Semper Fidelis: Always faithful
by GraceBe
Summary: AU. When Della is in trouble, Perry rushes to her side, but can he protect her reputation and find a dangerous killer, before it's too late? Last chapter added! Thanks for reading :-)
1. Times of Trouble

**So... this is a story that came out of nowhere and without warning. It's dark, it's messy and it takes place in a universe where Perry is married to someone else than Della... Do I still have your attention? Good, because this story is part of another story I've written many years ago. Perhaps it is easier to understand the whole context when you've read "The Price of Love". If not, here's a short summary: Perry married Laura, because she was pregnant with his child and as a result Della left him and found another husband with whom she has a healthy son. Due to Laura's pressure and ambition Perry has gone into politics, but as you can imagine he isn't THAT happy with his life and his marriage. But what about Della? Is she happy? As you can imagine her life and Perry's will always be intertwined...**

 **I want to thank our dear Nora for her help and advice. Every mistake you may find, is my mistake, not hers!**

 **Semper fidelis - Always faithful**

"Absence is to love what wind is to fire" ~ Roger de Rabutin de Bussy

 **Chapter 1 – Times of Trouble**

 _Georgetown, Friday, 26th October 1973_

Della Street Carlisle looked down on the body at her feet, but didn't dare to scream. The man was obviously dead and the heavy chest wound left no question about the cause of his death. However, there was no knife and no gun. There was a lot of blood soaking her beige carpet. It sickeningly mixed with the foamy water running down her bare legs. She had only been in the shower for five minutes, if not less. How could she not have heard what had happened in here? Suddenly, realizing she could be in grave danger, her head shot up. The radio in the bathroom was still playing. She had increased the volume, before she went into the shower, because she wanted to hear her favorite song: "You Don't Own Me."

She was shaking with fear and the towel wrapped around her body fell down into the pool of blood. She froze. What if the murderer was still here? Carefully, she let her eyes trail the room. Her instinct told her she was alone, but she was also completely naked, and she wouldn't know how to defend herself, if someone attacked her. Holding her breath, while her heart threatened to explode in her chest, she waited and listened, but there was only the rattling noise of the radio and the moderator announcing it was almost midnight.

'Pull yourself together,' she scolded.

Whoever killed this man would have killed her too, if they had wanted to, because she was certainly vulnerable enough. With her arms wrapped around her freezing body, she stepped aside and blindly searched for her dressing gown on the bed. After she tied the sash of the robe, she picked up the receiver and dialed a number she had never called before, although she knew it by heart. She didn't know what else to do and she hoped God would forgive her for breaking a vow she had given more than once in the past, but for the last time, less than two hours ago.

Her eyes were fixed on the dead man on her bedroom floor. She didn't know him and she was too disgusted by his sight to say she was sorry he was dead.

'Wait a second,' she thought…her eyes opening widely. Suddenly, she recognized his face and knew where she had seen him before. "Oh no," she muttered, rubbing her temples. If only he hadn't died in her bedroom!

The person on the other end of the line finally picked up. It was late, but he had never been one to leave the office early.

"Mason."

Hearing him bark his name into the phone instantly calmed her nerves. She could still count on him and that would never change.

"It's me," she said, realizing her voice sounded as if it belonged to another person.

"Della? What's wrong?" It was as if he already knew she was in deep trouble.

"Please, just listen to me... I think I need you..." It wasn't the best way to phrase things, but what else was there to say?

She heard something drop on his desk…probably a file or some other paperwork. Perhaps the draft for his next speech?

"What's wrong?" he asked again, concern clouding his voice.

"Perry, I'm in trouble. I'm in so much trouble..." Without going into detail, she asked him to meet her in her apartment as soon and as discreetly as possible. If she was lucky, he could get inside the building without being seen.

While she tried to figure out how to get dressed, without leaving too much evidence, her mind trailed off to a time about four weeks ago. Maybe that night had been the beginning of it all. Maybe tonight was the climax of a series of events that had started four weeks ago and she just hadn't seen it coming. If her husband lost his career because of her, he would never forgive her. And what about her son? The last thing she wanted was for him to watch his parents get torn apart by a scandal that she could have prevented - if she had only done what was right, instead of what was easy.

* * *

 _Near Sacramento, Friday, 28th September 1973_

Della's hands were shaking as she lit herself a cigarette and inhaled deeply. It was her first cigarette since she had learned about her pregnancy almost nine years ago. She had stopped the habit when she learned it didn't do her or the baby any good.

With the first slow drag, she was shaken by a heavy cough and dropped the cigarette. Her ribs were aching, but she picked it up and lit it again. She needed something to cling to... something to help her hold herself together. She leaned backwards against her car, oblivious to the beautiful sunrise that took place in front of her. The beach was deserted…odd for this time of day. The air was too crisp for her to continue to stand there in a sleeveless dress, but she didn't feel the cold. An all-consuming fear controlled her. Almost every part of her body ached from physical and mental pain. Her wrists were bruised… so was her neck. The way her rib cage ached, she wouldn't be surprised if her upper body was bruised too. She also had a disgusting taste in her mouth that the cigarette couldn't cover up. Her head was splitting in pain and her stomach felt like a stone. Unable to comprehend what happened to her, she finished her cigarette and lit the next one. For the first time in her life, she was truly scared and this included the time when she had feared for her fiance's life after a terrible car accident. She had just experienced a blackout…the first of her life. The ultimate loss of memory and control was driving her insane. All she knew was she needed to go home as soon as possible. Her husband and her son were waiting for her. Richard and Ruben were waiting for her and she needed to be to fine for them. There was no way they could ever know about last night. She would stop at the next gas station… perhaps the one where she had bought the cigarettes. There, she would freshen up and cover the exposed marks on her body with make up or what else she could find in her purse. No one would find out about last night. No one. She would simply bury it and never think about it again.

 **~~tbc~~**


	2. Corpus Delicti

**Thank you so much for reviews and comments. I promise, if you stick with me, you won't regret it - at least I think, you won't.**

 **For everyone who's wondering about the time jump in the first chapter: There's a reason why I added the dates ;-) From now on we work our way to the point where Della finds the body in her bedroom.**

 **Chapter 2 – Corpus Delicti**

 _Washington, Thursday 18th October 1973_

Perry Mason sat behind his desk and enjoyed his morning coffee, along with the morning paper. He loved the peace of his office in the early hours of the day before it was crowded with co-workers and, more or less, useful political friends.

To his annoyance, his morning routine was disturbed by the latest society headlines. The gossip column was filled with pictures of Richard Carlisle, who had been the guest of honor at a big fundraiser for disabled children. Carlisle was the man he was about to challenge in the upcoming elections. However, it wasn't so much the report about his rival that bothered him. Mason respected Richard Carlisle. What he didn't like was seeing Della at Carlisle's side. Della was married to Carlisle. Della was the mother of Carlisle's son. Della, who would have been Mason's wife, if things had gone differently and it hadn't been necessary for him to marry Laura. He had always seen it as some kind of poetic justice that Della became the wife of the man who turned out to be his biggest adversary - first in court and now in politics. For whatever reason, their paths were destined to cross one another. It was never easy and never would be.

He took a closer look at the pictures and ignored the small article about last night's fundraiser. He had only eyes for Della. His Della looked vibrantly beautiful as always. Her figure was as slim and fragile as he remembered it. Every inch of her was the perfect embodiment of beauty and style paired with steadfastness. Did she ever put a foot wrong? In the eyes of the press and everyone else (Laura aside), she was practically perfect in every way. Even when people started questioning Carlisle's potential as a leader due to his disability, Della's simple presence, at his side, silenced them. It was simple psychology and it worked.

Perry himself had never doubted Carlisle's qualities for a second. Before the fatal accident that caused his spinal cord injury and left him a wheelchair, the man had given Mason the hardest of times in court. If anything, his condition had made him more determined than ever - especially when it came to fighting for what he believed in, whether politically or socially. If it weren't for Della, the two men could have become friends, but Carlisle was only too aware of Della's and Perry's history. He knew if Perry hadn't married Laura, Della probably would never have agreed to become his wife in the first place. Therefore, Carlisle guarded Della like a hawk and frequently reminded Perry of what he'd lost when he chose Laura.

The coffee was cold and Perry threw the paper away. He had to make sure that he and Laura would be seen in public together. It was time to give Laura a reason to shine. It would keep her occupied and busy. She seemed single-minded lately and Perry feared that her nerves and loneliness would get the better of her.

His thoughts were interrupted when his secretary announced herself with a sharp knock at the door. Perry looked at the clock and smiled. It was exactly half past seven. Rebecca Powell was never late. She wasn't Della, when it came to wit and charm, but she was damn close to perfect in the way she handled his office. She was in her early thirties and the kind of woman that people used to overlook in a busy room. He didn't even know if she had a boyfriends or some other special someone waiting for her at home each night.

"Good morning, Perry!" With a bright smile, she handed him his mail. "There's another pile waiting for you on my desk, but I thought we'd start with the important stuff."

"Whatever you say, Becca." He gave her a warm smile and he waited until she had sorted a second pile of papers on her arm.

"Some letters you need to answer asap," she said as she handed him the stack. "We're receiving more donations than ever. You've got an invitation from the Governor for the opera… I know, I know…" she scolded when she saw the grimace on his face. "He loves Wagner and he has people's attention, so what can we do? There's also an invitation for a masquerade ball on Halloween. Everyone will be there, so I think you and Laura should go as well."

"Will Carlisle be there?" Perry asked as he checked the engraved invitation.

"Of course. And you bet he will want to make a good impression. I'm sure you saw the picture's from last night's event?" She pointed at the discarded newspaper in the waste basket and raised an amused eyebrow at him.

"I did." He answered gruffly.

"We certainly have to keep up with him even if it's only for publicity and the donations."

Perry sighed. This society circus was the part of politics he hated the most. "I guess, you're right, Becca. Anything else?"

She nodded. "We have this. I didn't dare to open it, because it explicitly says FAO…"

She gave Perry a thick brown envelope with his name on it. No stamp… no sender. 'Intriguing,' he thought as he turned the envelope over for further inspection.

"A ticking bomb?" he asked a bit amused and opened it with the letter opener Rebecca gave him.

"Hope it's another fat check. We can use it." Rebecca replied.

Mason peeked in and wrinkled his forehead. The letter contained a package of black and white pictures and, for a second, he was tempted to empty it on his desk, but then he froze and decided otherwise. A bad feeling overcame him, when he recognized a face he only knew too well.

"I think we will continue later, Becca," he said tonelessly and without facing her.

She didn't understand. "Pardon me?"

"I have to take care of something."

"And what about the meeting? Jack will be here in less than 20 minutes."

"Call him and tell him, it's canceled." Perry answered, already silently counting the seconds until she left the room.

"But Perry..."

"Do as I say!" He barked. Startled by his anger, Rebecca fled the room. Perry didn't care if she felt afraid, angry, or perhaps insulted. This was more important than letters, checks, or invitations for the opera and stupid balls. As soon as the door had closed behind her, he took a closer look at the photos. Shock and disbelief turned into disgust. After he finished looking at them, one by one, he was ready to be sick or to commit a murder. Whichever came first wasn't enough to release him from the agony he was suddenly feeling as he stuffed photo after photo back inside the envelope and placed them in his drawer.

He sat silently at his desk, closed his eyes, and let out a slow, measured breath. For every other man in his position, these photos presented a gift from God. They were the ammunition he needed to send Carlisle and his campaign straight to hell. To him, they only meant pain… pain because they were an insult to the woman he loved above anyone and everything else.

######

 _Sacramento, Saturday 20th October 1973_

It was the loneliest Saturday afternoon Della could remember. Richard was away in Los Angeles for a meeting with his campaign manager and Ruben spent the weekend with a friend from school on a fishing trip. At first she had looked forward to a quiet weekend, but now, she dreaded the empty house. Sure, she could call one or two of her lady friends, but the idea of spending an evening engaged in mindless gossip wasn't much to her taste either. Perhaps she should just spend her night with a good book and a glass of wine. No… she felt too restless to sit around doing nothing but sit in a chair with a book. She doubted she would be able to concentrate enough to get through one chapter anyway. Ever since the spooky incident four weeks ago, she couldn't stand to just sit around and do nothing. Every time she had too much time on her hands, she started to question herself and what happened to her during the hours before she had awoken in her car.

In her kitchen, she inspected the almost empty refrigerator and sat down to write a grocery list…pen in one hand, cigarette dangling in the other. So far, she had hidden her 'relapse' from Richard and Ruben, but she really needed to give up smoking again soon. She didn't want to be a bad example for Ruben and she certainly didn't want Richard asking questions she didn't want to answer. To him, her smoking habit was connected to Perry Mason and everything connected to Perry Mason caused friction between them.

The ringing doorbell startled her from her shopping list and wandering mind. She quickly disposed her cigarette in the ashtray and hid it again in the top shelf of her cupboard. With rushed steps, she made her way to the front door. As soon as she recognized her visitor through the peephole, she swallowed hard and bit her lower lip.

"This isn't a good idea," she said through the barely opened door.

"We need to talk."

They hadn't talked in years. She hadn't seen him for months. The last time they had been in the same room, it had been a formal dinner invitation that didn't require any kind of conversation between them. What did he want from her? Her life was complicated and confusing enough as it was. She didn't need him to make it worse.

"Please, Della. It's important."

"I'm not alone," she said as a last resource. "Ruben's here."

"You've always been a bad liar. I know you're alone."

The man was a pain in the neck. Before a neighbor noticed him, she quickly hurried him inside. To her slight amusement, he wore a cap and an old rain jacket that he'd worn when they had been out on a fishing trip. She always hated both pieces. Apparently, Laura hadn't been any more successful in getting rid of his old clothes than she had.

"You should have called," she said when she was leading him inside the living room.

"I didn't want you to come up with an excuse not to see me." He took off his cap and jacket and placed them over an armchair. As always, when he entered a room, he owned it. His presence in her house felt wrong and she hoped Richard never found out she allowed him inside. He would feel betrayed by the mere thought of it.

"I think we have to talk somewhere else," Perry said as he looked around. The living room was a bright room with two panoramic windows. "I don't want anyone to see me here."

Della crooked her left eyebrow. His demeanor annoyed her and she felt the need for a cigarette to deal with his presence.

"We can go into the library, " she suggested. The library was also Richard's study. Another sanctum. Another betrayal. She mentally added wine to her grocery list.

Again, Perry followed her. This time, he closed the distance between them and she felt the strength and heat radiating from his body. It caused a tickle all over her spine. How could it be that he still had such a physical impact on her? They hadn't been together in over ten years. Why was she never free of him?

The library was a cozy room with shelved walls, a sitting room suite in front of a fireplace and Richard's oversized mahogany desk as the focal point.

"So, this is where Richard is plotting his next move against me," Perry mused.

"He's not plotting against you," she answered. He didn't comment on her answer and, instead, replied, "I think we should sit down."

"Just say what you want and leave." To her growing annoyance, he sat down on the sofa and placed an envelope on the small coffee table. When he spoke to her again, his voice was gentler than before. He needed to break down the wall she so vehemently wanted to keep up.

"I don't like this any more than you, but I guess for a different reason. I'm not here to bother you, Della. I want to help you."

"Help me?" she repeated, a little confused. "I really don't know what you're talking about."

His eyes fell to the envelope on the table. "This was in my mail two days ago. I want you to see it."

Her eyes followed his and, all of the sudden, fear grew within her. It was the same fear she had experienced about a month ago. She crossed the room and, hands trembling, opened the small package.

 **#####tbc#####**


	3. Naked Truths

**Thank you for your lovely reviews and comments! Here we go with the next chapter...**

 **Chapter 3 – Naked truths**

Outside, the day was ending, but, for Della, darkness couldn't arrive soon enough. She didn't want Perry to see her like this. Actually, she didn't want to be seen at all…not that he was looking at her anyway. His back was turned away from her while he was building a fire. She sat behind Richard's desk with the photos spread out all over the polished desktop. Her hands were shaking so violently that the ash from her cigarette ended up all over them. Ashes all over her face… all over her body. 'How perfectly fitting,' she thought.

She understood Perry… she wouldn't want to look at herself either. If he was disgusted by her, she didn't blame him. The photos, at least the majority of them, were revolting. She wasn't neither prude nor overly prim and proper. For heaven's sake, she and Perry had enjoyed a healthy sexual relationship, without being married, for years. She was comfortable with her body and enjoyed sex, but she also knew how to be discreet. However, these photos were as far outside the realm of discreet as imaginable.

'Well,' she thought, taking another slow drag of her cigarette, '…at least I know now what had happened to me during the night of my memory loss.'

The photos explained the bruises and marks she had found on her wrists and neck. Someone had taken photos of her in several explicitly posed situations with two other people - a man and a woman. Both were wearing ridiculous face masks, the kind usually worn at corny masquerade balls.

She didn't want to look at the pictures, but her eyes were drawn to them. Her stomach was churning, almost to the point of spilling its contents, because she knew what these pictures could do to her husband and her son. How could she not remember any of this? How could something like this happen to her? It made no sense whatsoever.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Della, startled by the sudden interruption into her thoughts, almost dropped her cigarette.

"I'm sorry." Perry stood next to her and gently squeezed her shoulder. His touch was too much to bear.

"I think I'm going to be sick!" The cigarette dropped from her hand and she stormed out of the room.

* * *

His first instinct was to follow her, but he forced himself to stay where he was…afraid that his witnessing her become ill would cause her even more embarrassment than the photos splayed across the desk. He needed to give her the time and space necessary to recover from the shock. She had been violently robbed of her privacy. If he continued to invade her privacy, it would probably make things worse for her instead of better. He let this eyes travel across the room. He needed a drink and he was sure, she would need one as well, as soon as she returned. Behind the desk was a board with framed photos of Della, Richard, and little Ruben. He avoided taking a closer look at them and opened the cabinet door. As expected, he found a bottle of brandy and a couple of glasses. He tossed back his first glass, but took it slower with the second one. The alcohol burned in his throat, making him feel something else other than embarrassment and pain. He hated to admit it, but he was grateful for her reaction. It meant she hadn't risked her reputation for a night of rough pleasure. 'As if she would ever do something like that,' he thought, taking another slow gulp of the smooth liquor. No… he was grateful and extremely relieved that the Della he knew…the Della he loved hadn't slept with people who abused their intimate knowledge of her to... to do what exactly? That was the overwhelming question.

He still didn't know what to make of the situation. Why would anyone send him pictures of her? Why didn't they send them to Richard? Was this really about blackmail or, in the end, about something else entirely?

He heard her steps and looked up. She was pale and her eyes were swollen and red from crying. Without further ado, he poured her a glass and she took it without thanks.

"I don't understand this, Perry. I swear to God I have no idea how or where these pictures were taken," she exclaimed after her first gulp of brandy.

"Would you be angry with me if I told you I was just thinking how grateful I am that you seemed to know nothing about this…that I'm grateful to hear you say that?" he asked, whirling his brandy around, not wanting to look her in the eyes.

"I guess not." She sank on the sofa and stared into the fire. He sat down next to her, careful not to touch her again.

"Do you remember anything?"

She shook her head. "Not really. My guess is it happened four weeks ago. I was out that night. A friend celebrated her birthday. It was girl's night in a club downtown, but I didn't feel well. I left early..." she broke off, collecting her thoughts. "I remember going to my car and unlocking the door, but that's it. The next morning, I woke up in my car near the beach." Her voice was shaking and she emptied her glass. To give himself something to do, Perry refilled it quickly and offered her a fresh cigarette that she declined. Without pushing her, he waited until she was able to continue her report.

"I had a headache and several bruises, but I wasn't injured nor was anything stolen."

"Did you see a doctor?" he asked, praying the answer was yes. She nodded in response. "I wasn't raped, if that's what you want to know. There was no evidence of sexual intercourse – at least nothing visible. The blood test was also negative, but, who knows what they drugged me with."

"Thank God."

"I'm not sure God was with me that night." He'd never heard that kind of bitterness from her before, but, placing himself in her position, he could certainly understand her feelings.

"What does Richard know about this?"

"Nothing."

"You didn't tell him... anything?"

"No, and I won't. Not if I can help it." She took a cigarette from his package.

"Is everything all right between the two of you?" He laced his hands together and looked at the floor.

Her answer came without hesitation. "This has nothing to do with the state of my marriage, Perry. We are fine and I want us to stay that way."

"Do you think he would blame you for any of this?" he asked in disbelief. "I know Richard. He loves you."

She scoffed. "This isn't about him not loving me. I just don't want him hurt and seeing these pictures would hurt him. I don't know if you ever thought about it, but our physical relationship isn't as..." she searched for the right word and made grand gestures towards the desk with the photos, "lively as that mess over there. Seeing me in the photos is perhaps painful for you, but it would destroy him."

Perry swallowed. He had never allowed himself to think about Della's sexual relationship with her husband or the possible lack of it due to his disability. He wasn't masochistic by heart but his brain was now producing images that he wanted to forget as quickly as possible. He tried to reason with her. "I don't think you have much of choice left. What will you do when Richard or even the press gets wind of this?"

"I don't know," she admitted and silence fell. With a heavy sigh, she leaned back and, for the first time since he had entered her home, she seemed to relax a bit.

"Be honest with me. What did you think when you saw the photos?" she asked. He contemplated a lie, but as he knew her, she knew him too and would see right through him.

"At first, I wasn't sure what to think. Sure, I was surprised...bewildered..." He shrugged, pretending to be unheeding. "And, then, I wondered if I had missed something during our time together."

The lame joke didn't miss its target. She started to chuckle. "I assure you, you didn't. I have no use for leather and whips in my bedroom and I prefer not to hide my face behind a mask while making love to someone."

"I'm glad to hear it," he smiled. "I would have hated for you to feel unsatisfied by me - in retrospect."

"I wasn't. Never." She said in a low voice. He wanted to hold her. Damn, he wanted to take her into his arms and comfort her. If he was perfectly honest, he wanted to make love to her to make her forget, but he kept his wishes to himself and cleared his throat.

"There's only one man in this world who can help you."

Della drew a deep breath. "I know."

"There's no one else we can trust."

Again, she agreed. "I know."

"I'll contact Paul, but we need to be discreet."

"Why are you doing this?" she asked. "One photo of me naked with another woman and the victory at the election is yours. The public would feel sorry for Richard, but no one would vote for him anymore."

"I'm not sure this is about the election at all," Perry said. "If it were just that, they could have given the photos to any lousy reporter out there, but they sent them to me. What for? It took an awful lot of planning and work."

She contemplated his words for a while. Perry was right in his assessment and, again, fear was spreading through her veins like poison. People who drugged and abused a person like they had abused her would likely do whatever it takes to achieve their goals.

* * *

 _Los Angeles_

Worn out from a long and disappointing day, Richard Carlisle hung up the phone. He had just received the phone call he'd dreaded ever since he had hired a private investigator to keep an eye on Della. It all started one morning when she came home from a birthday party and something seemed terribly wrong with her. She was nervous, had trouble sleeping and was smoking again…even though she'd taken extreme measures to hide it from him. Her loss of weight and the consequential shadows in her face alarmed him. Every time she thought he wasn't paying attention, he noticed how her body relaxed, as if she was desperately trying to keep up the facade of the perfect mother and wife. Ruben was, of course, too young to notice how troubled his mother was, but Richard knew her and he feared for her health and her mental stability.

At first, it felt sordid to hire someone to follow her, but she wouldn't tell him what was bothering her and he couldn't live with the unknown. As the weeks passed by and the private investigator didn't report anything unusual, Richard felt relieved and was sure he'd overreacted. Tonight's call destroyed this illusion. A man was in their house. A man whose description fit only one person known to Richard Carlisle: Perry Mason. Mason was in his home. The idea made him sick to his stomach. What if her nervousness and her sorrow were the result of an affair with Mason? She would never take something like this lightly. He couldn't imagine Mason was happy with his wife. In Richard's eyes, Laura was nothing but a morbid, attention seeking bitch, who had trapped Mason with an unwanted pregnancy. He knew a part of Della would always long for Mason… would always love him, but Richard always believed her love for him would also be enough to restrain her feelings for Mason. It seemed he had been wrong and it made him fear for his family.

 **~tbc~**


	4. Unsolicited Advice

**Here we go with chapter 4. Sorry for the lack of posting, but there's this thing called 'real life' that sometimes grabs my full attention. Look at it this way: as long as Della was sitting with Perry on the couch, nothing bad could happen to her ;-) She's safe with him! Always.**

 **Chapter 4 – Unsolicited advice**

 _Los Angeles, Monday, 22th October 1973_

Perry met Paul in a bar outside of Los Angeles. The place was crowded with all kinds of shady figures who didn't care about the conversation at the tables next to them. It was exactly the kind of place Perry preferred for the kind of conversation he was about to have with Paul. Over a beer and a steak, that reminded him of a briquette, Perry told his former sidekick… his former P.I. and lifetime best friend the reason for their unusual meeting. Paul's reaction was as expected: disbelief, anger, and perplexity.

"You've got to be kidding me," he exclaimed and ran a hand through his gray hair.

"I wish I was."

"How's Della?"

"What do you think? It scared the hell out of her."

"Understandable, but…" Paul leaned forward. "Forgive my stupid question, but, why am I talking to you and not to Richard Carlisle himself?"

Perry pursed his lips. "Because Richard Carlisle has no idea what happened to his wife."

Paul let out an exasperated sigh. "Jesus!"

"I know, but Della insisted we keep him in the dark – at least for the time being."

Paul shook his head. "I'm afraid Della doesn't realize what will happen, if this thing becomes public, and he isn't prepared for it."

"I tried to reason with her, but she's too shocked to see sense," Perry said, hoping Paul would still do what needed to be done. "That's the reason we have to be quick. We need to know who did this to her and we need the negatives."

Paul pushed his full plate aside and lit a cigarette. "I hate to state the obvious but the photos are the only place we have to start, unless she has a hunch about who could have done it."

"She hasn't. At least, that's what she claims," Perry said and reached inside his jacket. "I don't have to tell you that no one can ever see them."

Paul laughed, but it sounded like a raw bark. "Believe me, I wish I didn't have to see them." He looked at the package. "How many?"

"About two dozen."

"Damn it! Listen, Perry… I'll go to Sacramento as soon as possible. I'll have to talk to her myself."

Perry produced another envelope from the pocket of his jacket. "Her telephone number and the times you can reach her. Make sure Carlisle won't get wind of this."

"I'll do my very best," Paul said. "Do you want my unsolicited advice?"

"Shoot." Perry stated, looking him square in the eyes.

"The sooner he knows what's going on, the better. This is not the first time my client has been a wife who tries to hide things from her husband. Things like this never end well!"

Perry agreed with him because Paul was right… but there was another truth Perry did not dare to admit to Paul. Knowing that Della entrusted him with something that Carlisle didn't know anything about gave him meaning. It gave Perry the certainty that he still meant something to her…that their love, the depth of their past relationship…the trust they had shared transcended time. They still had something that could not be touched by another man, at least, not in Della's eyes. It was selfish, arrogant even, for him to harbor these feelings, but he had never claimed to be a saint.

* * *

 _Washington D.C._

It was after eleven o'clock when Laura Mason snuck into her husband's office. She locked the door behind her and switched on the desk lamp. Usually, it wasn't her style to spy on Perry, but something was wrong with him and she needed to know what it was for her own sanity. She was used to his cranky moods and his workaholic behavior, but, a few days ago, he had disappeared completely and was flying all over the country without telling her why. She had the lingering feeling that he was having an affair, but sneaking around with other women wasn't his style. She was convinced most men went astray every once in a while, but Perry was not most men. He didn't take his marriage vows lightly. In fact, there was only woman who had the power to seduce and lure him and her name was Della Carlisle. However, wasn't she living the dull life of a housewife and mother on the west coast?

Laura sat down and started searching his desk. As always, it was annoyingly tidy. His diary was filled with appointments for the following week, but, as far as she could see, none of the notations in front of her appeared to be of a private nature. There was no telephone number or letter that awoke her suspicion. 'I wonder where the key is to the top drawer?' She pondered to herself. 'After all, where else did people hide something incriminating if not in locked drawers?'

She looked around…searching for a place where he could have hidden the key. Her eyes fell onto a flower pot on the window board. It was worth a try, but of course, too easy. Frustrated, she rose and arranged everything the way it had been before. On her way out, she passed the desk of Perry's secretary, Rebecca. An idea struck her and she stopped in her tracks: Perry trusted Rebecca completely. Would he trust her with the keys for his desk?

The appearance of Rebecca's desk was as plain as the woman herself. Laura found her utterly boring. Her style was too simple. Her clothes were practical, but not stylish, and her hair could do with a modern cut rather than the old fashioned topknot she usually fashioned each day. With glasses covering most of her face, it was impossible to tell her real age. Any number between twenty-five and fifty was realistic. In a way, she was like Della Street, but far less attractive and not charming whatsoever. In a way, Rebecca was the perfect secretary for Perry. With her in his antechamber, Laura didn't have to worry about long hours or working lunches.

To her delight she found a single key underneath Rebecca's type writer - a key that actually opened the mysterious locked drawer. She searched the contents with growing anticipation and hit pay dirt. Underneath a pile of files, she found a photograph that confirmed her worst suspicions. She felt her face flush red hot. Her pulse was racing and an unknown fury took possession of her. How dare he cheat on her with his former secretary? How dare he keep the proof for his indiscretion in his office where his new secretary could find it at any time? Had he lost his mind? After all, he was the one who wanted a seat in Congress and he needed his wife's help to get there. A little more loyalty would suffice in her opinion. Oh…he would pay for this… and so would the ever, so proper Mrs. Richard Carlisle.

* * *

 _Sacramento, Tuesday, 23th October 1973_

Della and Paul met at Sand Cove Beach. It was a cloudy and windy day. Only a few hardboiled souls were running along the shore; the perfect place to have a conversation that no one else was supposed to overhear.

"I'm sorry we have to meet under these circumstances," Della said, as she linked arms with Paul. "I'm a lousy friend."

"You're the most beautiful friend I have," he corrected her with a smile. "And don't worry about the circumstances. I've seen a lot in my time."

"Without a doubt. Still… I always thought I understood the women who came to us with their stories. I think compassion and really knowing what these women were going through is a different pair of shoes."

"That's why we need to get you out of this mess," he said. "Is there anything you can tell me that you haven't already told Perry?"

Della sighed. "I've gone over it a hundred times, already. I can't think of anything unusual that evening, but I have to admit my memory of the whole evening is quite blurry. Maybe there was someone and I can't remember them."

"Is it possible that one of your lady friends is involved?"

She shook her head. "I told you I left the club on my own. The others left together hours after I had gone."

"Did you feel watched that evening or any other time before or after? Has someone bothered you? A plumber? The postman or perhaps a friend of your husband?"

She thought about this for a moment and remembered something and dismissed the idea instantly. "About two months ago, Richard fired someone from his office."

"Who?"

"Actually he was an old friend of Richard's: David Crombie. He's made several passes at me during parties. At first, I didn't tell Richard, but once I had enough, I told him about it and he took his consequences, but I doubt he is involved in this."

"And why?" Paul asked curiously.

"From what I heard, David has moved to New York and…" she broke off.

"And?"

"Did you look at the photos?"

Paul sighed, "I had to, Beautiful."

"The man in them looks far too young to be David, who celebrated his sixtieth birthday two weeks ago."

Paul nodded. It was impossible to say who the people on the photos were, but both had young, well trained bodies. Nevertheless, he made a mental note to check out Crombie. "All right… anyone else?"

"No, I really can't think of anyone." She affectionately squeezed his arm. "I'm sorry, Paul. I'm lousy material to work with."

He stopped in his tracks and turned to her. "Don't ever be sorry for anything," he said, his voice filled with reassurance. "I promise you we will find out who did this to you and why, but…."

"Yes?"

"Perry said, you haven't told your husband yet…."

Annoyed by the subject, she turned away, but Paul got hold of her shoulders and turned her gently to him. "Della, please. I can't judge your husband or your marriage, but keeping something like this from him is wrong. If something like this happened to my wife, I would want to know about it."

"And so would Richard," she agreed, avoiding Paul's inquiring gaze.

"So?"

"All right… I'll tell you, but you have promise me not to tell anyone. Not Perry, especially not Perry."

Sensing she had indeed held something important back, he drew a deep breath, hoping he wasn't about to make a vow he had to break sooner or later. "I swear."

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to tell him something she had buried deep within her heart and mind. "Last summer, I almost had an affair."

Paul swallowed and said nothing. Patiently, he waited for her to continue. "His name was Nicholas Renzi. He was a young lawyer who worked for Richard's office. In the beginning, it was all rather harmless, but when Ruben had problems at school, he started to give him lessons. Ruben simply adored Nick because he was paying him the attention Richard couldn't because he was busy at work or… unable to give. So, he became a frequent guest in our house. As the weeks went by, he developed a crush on me and I felt… appreciated… wanted. I was swept off my feet to be honest."

"Did you…?" He broke off, unable to phrase the obvious question.

She shook her head. "We didn't… or to be precise we never had the chance. One afternoon, he left our house in Malibu and never arrived home. A few days later, Richard told me Nicholas had been involved in a car accident. He died from his injuries. I was devastated and so was Ruben."

Paul rubbed her arms. "Della..."

"I know, I know... call it a midlife crisis, if you want to. Anyway, I told Richard about it and, as you can imagine, he wasn't happy. We had some rough months, but we are fine now. I can't risk losing his trust again."

"Don't you think that feeling attracted to someone else and being kidnapped are two very different kinds of beasts?"

"Perhaps, but I don't want to find out if he appreciates the difference. You know one reason why I felt so drawn to Nick was his resemblance to Perry. I saw him and he reminded me of the very first time I met Perry. And now these photos end up in Perry's mail..." Della's voice trailed off and she wiped a lonely tear from her cheek. "Perry's a red rag to Richard."

Paul hated seeing her desperate like this, but there wasn't much he could do to make her feel better. He let his eyes roam the beach, allowed himself to absorb the details of his beautiful environment, before he carefully phrased what was on his mind. "Listen, Beautiful, I can't tell you what to do, but would you listen to my unsolicited advice?"

A small smile broadened over her face. "Of course."

"Honesty is always the best, no matter how brutal or ugly the truth is. How can your husband trust you, if you don't trust him?" He cleared his throat. "And about Perry... He's scared for you…. And I promise I won't tell him about your almost boy toy."

She shot him a knowing glance, but at the same time a coy smile crossed her face. "The photos shocked the daylights out of him. I think he finally realized I'm not a saint, but I don't want him to think I'm sleeping with people who remind me of him."

"Even if you want to?" It been had out of his mouth before he could stop himself. She responded with a playful hit against his shoulder. "You're impossible!"

"I just think he likes the idea of being your knight in shining armor. He misses his old life, you know."

"So do I at times, Paul. So do I."

He opened his arms and gave her a long hug. "I really missed you, Paul," she said when she broke free from him again.

"I miss you, too and I even miss that old Ex of yours. We used to have some great times, didn't we?"

"The best of times," she agreed.

"And now... I hate to break it to you, but I think our next meeting won't be one we have to keep a secret."

She narrowed her eyebrows. "And why?"

"Don't turn, but there's a car up there on the street and the guy on the passenger's seat is watching us with something that's not just a pair of opera glasses."

"Someone's following us?" It took all her will power not to look over her shoulder.

"Black limousine, two people inside. It practically smells of high profile P.I."

"If you're lucky your husband sent him after you," Paul said and took her arm. "I think it's time to get you home."

* * *

Richard Carlisle opened the car window and took the binoculars his driver handed him. It took him a while to recognize the man who was walking along the beach with Della. He hadn't seen him in over a decade, but it was, without a doubt, Paul Drake. Drake's presence confused him. What was he doing in Sacramento and why did they take a walk along the beach in this weather? With growing discomfort, he watched Della's and Drake's easy mannered interaction and the embrace that took a little too long for his taste.

"Are you sure that isn't the man who was at my house a few days ago?" He asked the investigator.

"Quite sure. This one looks different. The other one was bigger."

He sighed and rubbed his tired face. He had seen enough for today. "Drive on," he ordered. "Let's get away from here."

 **~~tbc~~**

 ***Cookies for everyone who recognizes the name "Nicholas Renzi" from the originaL TV show. And btw: comments are highly appreciated ;-)**


	5. Where the Demons hide

**Chapter 5 – Where the Demons hide**

 _Washington D.C., Wednesday, 24th October 1973_

As usual, Perry was the last one in his office. Only this time, he wasn't exactly working. He was waiting for Paul Drake's telephone call. He was hoping against hope Paul had a first break through, but he had the sinking feeling he would end updisappointed. He felt helpless and that was an emotion he wasn't accustomed to. Deep down, he was already preparing for the moment the bomb would explode. What would he do if someone published the photos and exposed Della? The decent thing would be to condemn the people who did it, but would the Party force him to use it against Carlisle? That's what politics was all about, wasn't it? If you can't win on your own, you make sure your competitor didn't make it to the finish line? The poll numbers spoke in favor of Carlisle these days, but that would change soon, once Della was thrown under the bus.

Perry checked his watch. Paul was late and his nerves got the better of him. Just as he was aboutto pick up the receiver, the phone rang.

"Hi Perry."

"Hi Paul. I was about to call you. Is everything all right?

"Yes, don't worry. I just had the most interesting day."

"Shoot!"

"I've started to traipse around all sorts of places who are specialized in that kind of photography and shops who sell the respective equipment. I came across a guy who told me about a young couple who bought stuff that looks identical to the lingerie and the masks used in the photos."

"Did you get a name?"

Paul scoffed. "Of course not. But it wasn't the first time he had seen the woman. She must be some sort of regular and always pays cash. He said she likes to change her looks as well as her companions. He'll call me when she shows up again."

It was a start, but Perry wasn't satisfied. Suddenly agitated, he fished for a cigarette. "Anything else?"

"Have you heard from Della lately?" Paul asked.

"No. Why?"

"I think her husband smells a rat."

"How come?"

"When I talked to Della the other day, I noticed a car following us. I've done some digging and I'm sure it's someone Carlisle hired."

"Did you tell her?"

"Sure, I did. I told her to talk to him and to get rid of the other guy. The last thing we need is someone else getting involved. Let's hope Carlisle will play ball. Otherwise, we have another problem."

"You're right." Perry felt a headache rising. If Carlisle was already suspicious, this was doomed to become a lot tougher than he had feared.

"Of course I'm right. Listen, I have to go. I have an appointment with someone who works in the bar Della was in the night she was abducted."

"Call me as soon as possible. No matter what time of day."

"Aye, Sir."

Perry hung up and, when he looked up, he froze. Laura was in the doorway, leaning against the frame. She was dressed to the nines with an expression on her face as if she were ready to kill. Her dress exposed more than it covered and she toyed with a bottle of champagne. He tried to remember when he had spoken to her last. It must have been days ago. Perhaps almost a week? He had been too preoccupied with Della and his work to think about her. When did this happen to him? When did he start to forget about his wife?

"Hello Darling," she said too sweetly and entered his office. "I hope I'm not interrupting you."

"Of course you aren't," he answered. She greeted him with a lingering kiss that surprised him. He started to realize that she had switched into her usually quite successful seduction mode. He wasn't in the mood for games and certainly not in the mood for sex, even if it was the only thing that ever worked out between them. Over the years, they had developed a routine to cope with differences. They stopped talking for days when they reached the point of absolute disagreement and when she was sick of the silence between them, she bought some new lingerie and fixed things between the sheets. He had grown accustomed to it and, most of the time, it was the easy way to live with her, but this time was different. The last time they talked, they hadn't argued.

"Something wrong?" he asked, as he gently pulled back his chair and rose to his feet.

She smiled brightly at him. It was a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "No. I just thought we could spendthis evening together. You've been quite busy over the last week."

"I know. I'm sorry I didn't call you."

"Never mind... I know you wouldn't keep me waiting unless something very important had kept you occupied." She kissed him again and, this time, he allowed himself to return her advances. Refusing Laura would only cause another problem for him. He was sure she was already suspicious of his last week's absence and he didn't want for her to get involved in the whole mess with Della. Separating Laura from Della was essential to him, especially now that Della's reputation was on the line. Deep down, he sensed Laura would use every chance to discredit Della.

"Why don't we go out for a late dinner?" he asked between kisses.

"I'm not hungry," she purred and undid the buttons of his shirt one by one. "Just starving for you."

* * *

 _Sacramento_

"You are where?" Della couldn't believe it. She was on the phone with Richard who had just told her he had gone to San Francisco on short notice, because 'something' had come up. It wasn't like him to leave without talking to her first. The last two days had been awful between them. Every time she had tried to talk to him, he had interrupted her, the phone rang, or he had been claiming to be too busy to talk. From Paul, she knew that it had indeed been Richard who had hired the private investigator that had followed her around. Now she was on guard when she left the house, but the black car was gone. The unspoken truths and accusations between them were suffocating every interaction, every tenderness and she hated it with every fiber of her being. But since when was it like him to avoid her? Richard had never shied away from arguments. He wasn't the passive aggressive type who hid behind meetings to avoid unpleasant situations. What had changed? Her biggest fear was that he was finally sick of her. What if he already knew about the photos and just didn't want to face her anymore?

"When will you be back?" she asked, unable to cover up the anger in her voice.

"I don't know. Not tomorrow... perhaps Friday or Saturday."

"Well, maybe you can find the time to call, when you know what you want. I'm sure Ruben will want to know, if you'll be here for the weekend." Her words didn't miss their intention. For a moment, he was silent.

"Kiss him good night from me," he said. "Tell him, I'll be back as soon as possible."

"I will."

Again, silence filled the distance between them. "Della... I think we need to talk, when I'm back."

"Yes, I guess we have to."

"Good night." He hung up and for several minutes she just stood there, the receiver still in her hand, wondering how to make things right between them.

"Mommy?" Startled, Della turned around. Ruben, half asleep with his pajama completely askew was standing in the doorway.

"Yes, Honey, what is it?" She quickly hung up and rushed to him.

"Where's Daddy? I thought was back."

Saddened by the confusion on her son's face, she stroked his hair and placed a kiss on his head. "Daddy had to go San Francisco," she explained. She bent down and took his face between her palms. The older he grew, the more he resembled his father. "But he just told me he'll be back as soon as possible."

"Are you sure?" he asked, his eyes narrowed just like Richard's when he had trouble to believe something he was told.

"Of course, Honey. Why would you ask something like that?" She was honestly perplexed by her son. Ruben was usually a quiet child who rarely spoke about the things that concerned him. Often, she feared he was too sensitive for his age.

"You said the same about Nick. Do you remember? You said, he would come back soon and he didn't."

His answer was like a dagger pushed straight into her heart. She needed a few seconds before she knew what to do or say. Gently, she pulled Ruben with her to the couch and onto her lap.

"Honey, Nick had an accident. That was horrible, but not everyone who goes away for a few days, dies."

Ruben contemplated her words and then he slowly nodded. "I think I know that, but I'm still scared."

"I can understand that," Della said softly and cradled him against her. "You know, sometimes I'm scared, too."

"Really?"

"Sure, and I'll tell you a secret. Everyone's scared once in a while. People just don't say it."

"That's not so smart, is it? I mean I don't feel good when I'm scared, but now I feel better."

Della smiled. "Do you feel good enough to go to bed again?"

Ruben nodded and slipped from her lap. "Yes, I think so."

"Good, go upstairs. I'll be with you in a minute."

Della watched her son as he left the room and felt like crying. For a second, she considered having a brandy to calm her nerves, but decided against it. Alcohol wouldn't make anything easier.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Ruben was again sound asleep. Della took a cigarette from her hiding place in the top shelf of her kitchen cupboard. On her way to the terrace, she crossed the hallway and startled when she saw a shadow sneaking up to her front door. Quickly she pressed herself against the wall and waited for something to happen, but the figure didn't move. Whoever it was just stood in front of the door. It was a man, that much she could tell. Then, when he moved again, she suddenly recognized who he was and sighed with relief.

"Paul!"

She hastened to the door and opened it. "Paul Drake, have you lost your mind? I almost called the police!"

He passed her quickly. "I'm sorry, Beautiful. I just thought I'd give it a try."

She put her index finger on her lips. "Ruben's asleep. Come in!" He followed her inside the kitchen.

"Do you want a coffee? Or anything else?" She asked, after she had closed the kitchen door.

"No, thank you," he said as he sank down behind the table. "Where's Richard?"

"Hiding in San Francisco."

"Oh..."

"And before you ask... I didn't talk to him, because he avoids me like the plague."

"I'm sorry, Beautiful. I told you it wouldn't get easier."

She shrugged. "I'll have to find a way to make him listen to me, but that's not your problem."

"I wish I could help you with this, but I'm afraid I can't."

She gave him a smile. "Why are you here, Paul?"

He sighed, "I'm here because I think I found something. An hour ago, I talked to the bartender who was working the night you got kidnapped."

"And?"

"He remembered you and your friends - especially you, because you were the only one who wasn't drinking."

"That's true... I had a headache."

"He also remembered another woman who wassitting at a table close to yours. He said she's a regular, but that evening, "she looked different than usual," to quote him. He used the term "dressed up like a doll". She had reddish hair and wore a mink that she didn't take off all evening. Can you remember her?"

Della shook her head... she hadn't paid much attention the other people.

"Please, Della… this is important. The bartender is sure she followed you outside. Close your eyes and think. She fits the description of the woman who bought the... lingerie in the photos. Remember that evening? Let me help you to go back..."

"What?"

"It's a great method. Close your eyes and remember the evening."

"Are you sure...?" She had wrecked her head a thousand times trying to remember what had happened. What could Paul have in store that could help her to remember?

"Trust me, Della. Do as I ask. You won't regret it!" The eagerness and hope in his voice spread over to her and she did what he said.

"Now, close your eyes, Beautiful!" He took her hand and she closed her eyes.

"I'm not sure this will help," she said, but he squeezed her hand and she did her best to relax.

"Just do as I say... Go back. What is the club like?" Paul asked. "Do you freeze in there or is hot?"

"It's sticky in there," she said. "It's hot and my head is exploding. The others are having fun, but I just want to go home."

"Good... what else do you remember?"

"I go to the bathroom... it's crowded. I'm so annoyed and search my purse for an aspirin, but I don't have any... I think someone runs into me. My purse ends up on the floor."

"Who runs into you?"

"A woman... she apologizes and helps me collecting my things."

"What does she look like?"

Della tried to picture her, but it was hard... she didn't really look at her. The only thing she did remember was her perfume. It added to her headache "She wore this heavy scent... very flowery with a hint of vanilla. I just wanted to get away from her."

"Does she wear a mink coat?"

"I don't know... but I remember her hands. Her nails were short and her polish was dark red."

Paul was disappointed, but he didn't give up. "All right... let's move on. You decide to leave. What happens?"

Della shook her head. "I'm not sure... the place is so crowded. It takes me some time to get out..."

"Slow down... do you see anyone suspicious? Look around."

The faces she remembered were blurry. There was a lot of laughter…someone is singing loud to her favorite song, "You Don't Own Me." Just before she reached the door, she stopped and looked around, curious as to who was singing... she couldn't make out the singer, but there was this one face that caught her attention. A woman who was sitting at a table with a strange man. Hit by surprise, Della remained where she was until she was sure about the woman's identity. Before the other woman noticed Della was staring at her, she turned away and rushed out. The fresh air hit her like a train and she became dizzy. With unsteady legs, she went to her car and leaned against it, reaching out for more air.

"What is it, Della?" Paul squeezed her hand. "Are you all right?"

Della opened her eyes. The realization made her breathless and she was trembling. "I saw someone that night... when I left the club."

"Good! Was it the red head?"

"No... I mean it's possible she was there, but that's not the woman I remember."

"And who do you remember?" Paul asked, excitement clouding his voice.

"Paul, I saw Laura in that club. She was there at a table with another man."

"Laura? Laura who?"

"Laura Mason."

 **~~tbc~~**


	6. Watershed

**Hi there! Thank you all for your kind reviews and messages :-) They always make my day. The last time I posted I completely forgot to tell you that two reviewers have indeed been right about the origin of the name 'Nicholas Renzi'. I've borrowed it from the episode 'TCOT Pint-Sized Client'. The kid was kind of cute ;-)**

 **Here we go now with Chapter 6. Enjoy and let me know what you think!**

 **Chapter 6 – Watershed**

 _San Francisco, Friday, 26th October 1973_

Richard Carlisle was sitting at the breakfast table in his suite, but, right now, he felt more like drowning his sorrows in a bottle of whiskey than in scrambled eggs. Last night, when he returned from dinner with two of his associates, the receptionist had given him a message from Della. The rather cryptic note told him she was going to Washington and expected him to meet her there as soon as possible. It became more and more obvious to him that his marriage was at a breaking point. He had wanted to buy himself some time to come to terms with the fact that Mason and Drake were back in Della's life. He just couldn't go home to her, as if nothing had happened, once he knew Mason had been in his house and she hadn't said a word about it.

There was still this nagging suspicion eating at him: what if they had rekindled their old relationship? He knew Della well enough to know she wouldn't jump into bed with Mason just like that, but what if her feelings for the man had got the better of her? Richard pushed his plate aside, sick by the thought of losing her to a man who had wronged her in so many ways before. But what else could her sudden excursion to Washington mean?

Della hated Washington and preferred to stay in Sacramento, unless a social necessity for his political work demanded her presence. Richard wasn't unhappy about her disdain for Capitol Hill. Mason and his wife were spending a great deal of their time in Washington and the less Della saw of them, the better.

First, Mason had gone to Sacramento, now Della went to Washington. Had she decided to leave him and sought out Mason's help to see it through? It was hard to believe the two of them would make such a life altering decision in the year before the midterm elections. Yet, the facts spoke for themselves. His wife was keeping secrets from him and, whatever it was, it involved Perry Mason and his old sidekick, Paul Drake. Did the P.I. act as a confessor and enabler at the same time?

What was so important that she left their son in the care of friends to fly from one coast to the other?

Richard picked up the phone and called the airport. He needed to go to Washington, whether it was to end his marriage or save it, was a question he had no answer to.

* * *

 _Washington D.C._

Perry was sitting in his office, racking his brain about his latest conversation with Paul Drake. His friend was on to something, Perry was sure of that. The woman with the red hair was their first (and only) lead to the mystery of Della's disappearance. It seemed too much of a coincidence that the same woman who was with Della in the bar had also bought the incriminating equipment that she later got photographed with. But who was she? He didn't know anyone who fit her description but when she really changed her appearance frequently, it was probably a way to cover her tracks. Was she a professional? A P.I.? A prostitute? Did someone else hire her to execute this nasty scheme? It was a conclusion that inevitably led him to Laura, his own wife. Laura had always disliked Della and vice versa. There was no love lost between them for understandable reasons. Laura would never admit it, but she was insecure around Della. There was something about Della's grace and way she handled her life that made Laura self-conscious. Of course, it didn't help that Della was the mother of a healthy boy while Laura's child had died before it had been born.

Despite the bad feelings between them, he had a hard time to imagining Laura abducting and abusing Della the way it happened. Neither from a private nor from a competitive angle did it made sense. Why weren't the photos leaked to the press yet? If Laura did all this to have Carlisle lose the election, the photos needed to be published. However, destroying Della's marriage would be foolish on Laura's part, because an unmarried Della represented a bigger threat to her own marriage. Laura knew Perry well enough to know that he wouldn't use the photos for his advantage. Perry shook his head. As curious as it was that Della thought she had seen Laura in the same place in Sacramento that night, it could still be a coincidence.

Where the heck had he been that night? Had it been one of those weekends when Laura had claimed to be on a shopping trip in New York or for a weekend in the Hamptons? He had to admit that he had no idea how his wife spent her time when he wasn't home and it made him feel pathetic.

"Penny for your thoughts, Counselor."

A smooth voice reached his ear. Surely, he was just daydreaming. He turned his chair and found her standing in front of his desk: his Della… in flesh and blood. He couldn't believe she had come to see him. He marveled in her appearance. From the brown turtleneck sweater and blazer that underlined every curve of her perfect figure to the high heeled boots, she looked flawless. Compared to Laura's outfit the night before, it was utterly appropriate, but, to him, even more alluring.

"I'm afraid no one calls me Counselor anymore," he said, because he didn't know what else to say.

"That's a pity. You are one of the best."

"What are you doing in Washington?"

"Well, I thought it was time to walk into the lion's den. I hope you don't mind me barging in here like this."

"Of course not!" He rose, unsure whether to greet her with a kiss on the cheek or not. He decided against the kiss and, instead, offered her one of the two seats at his desk. Perry sat down on the other one.

"How are you?" he asked.

"I'm good."

The shadows beneath her eyes told him differently. He took her hand and ran his thumb over her knuckles. "Where's Richard and where's your son?"

"Richard's in San Francisco and Ruben is staying with close friends of ours. Their son and Ruben are thick as thieves. He's fine there."

"And you?" he asked, searching her eyes. "Why are you here on your own?"

"I'm here to talk to you about Laura. I'm sure Paul's told you already."

"I see." He wasn't really surprised. He let go of her hand and leaned back into his chair. "Paul told me what you remembered about that night and, to be honest, I haven't thought about anything else the whole day."

"But you don't believe me," she stated and anyone else had missed the slight hint of accusation in her voice, but he didn't. Yet, he ignored it for the time being. He didn't want their conversation to become a fight.

"No, that's not it." he said. "I do believe you, but the conclusion makes no sense."

"And why not?"

He drew a deep breath, "She wouldn't set you up like this..."

"What do you mean?"

"Abduct and abuse is not her modus operandi. Humiliation perhaps, but if she were involved and had these pictures, they would have been in the news a long time ago. I know Laura and I know her better than you do."

The statement caused a sour smile to cross her face. "I'm sure you do. Did you ask her why she was in Sacramento that night?"

"I haven't."

"Well, if you don't. I will." She wanted to get back on her feet, but he placed his hand on her arm.

"Wait, Della... I'm not sure confronting her is the best tactic in this case." He saw how she tensed. "Please, think about it. In case she knows nothing about the photos yet, I want to keep it that way."

She established eye contact with him, ready to fight her point. "And if she's responsible for them, she's playing her game with us."

He held her gaze, "I promise you, if she is responsible, she'll be held accountable for her actions."

"You really think she's innocent, don't you?"

"Innocent until proven guilty," he said. "I can understand her presence in Sacramento triggered something for you, but..."

"Triggered something?" she repeated angrily. "Perry, did you forget how she pushed herself between us! She'll do anything to get what she wants." She pushed herself up and, while pacing the room, she searched her purse for a cigarette. He followed her and gave her fire.

"I promise I will talk to her, but I'll do it on my own," he tried to reassure her.

"Forgive me that I don't find the idea very comforting!" Her facial expression was almost smug, but a quick glance at her trembling hands told him, it was the fear talking.

"I thought you trusted me," he said.

"I do trust you... I just don't trust her."

He left her statement uncommented and decided to stir their conversation into a different direction. "Did you talk to Richard? Paul said he hired someone to follow you."

She shrugged. "Richard isn't talking to me. He doesn't come home and hides behind his work."

"I'm sorry."

"Are you?" she asked, again searching for his eyes.

"Yes." It was a white lie and he could read in her face that she accepted it for what it was.

She broke off eye contact and turned away. "Should I talk to him?" Perry suggested.

Della answered with a chuckle, "I doubt that is a good idea. And, as you said, it's my responsibility after all."

He couldn't argue with that. "He will understand, Della."

"Perhaps he will, perhaps not. The only thing I know is that you shouldn't talk to him."

"All right. I'll respect your wishes," he promised.

For over a minute, he just listened to the sound of her heels, as she strolled around his office, while he stared out of the window. Rain was falling heavily, hitting the windowpane. Thunder was rolling in the distance.

"I liked our office better," she suddenly said. "This one lacks atmosphere."

He accepted her opinion with a smirk. "I think so, too."

"And I see you're not keeping your present secretary in the office until midnight," she joked mildly.

"No, I don't. That was your privilege."

"Well, thank you."

"I've never replaced you… neither in my office nor in my life. I want you to know that." He could have made a joke out of it too, but he wasn't in the mood for joking.

She leaned back against his desk, her arms crossed over her chest. "It will never be easy between us again, will it?"

"I'm afraid not. We can never go back."

He crossed the office, closing the distance between them. "We can only go forward."

"And where would going forward lead us?" she asked as she stubbed her cigarette in his ashtray.

"Perhaps in a place where we belong." Unsure if he wasn't too bold, he caressed her chin with his thumb.

"Are you suggesting we head together into the sunset, Counselor?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"I admit I've been thinking about it a lot lately." He leaned forward, his lips brushing hers softly. The delicate touch lit a fire that had been smoldering between them for almost as long as they had known each other. He pulled her against him, his hand around the back of her neck. He kissed her as if he had been starving for her and she returned his kiss with equal passion. It was impossible for him to say how long they were kissing and holding each other. He just knew he didn't want her to leave. His hands ran greedily over her body, reacquainting themselves with her curves, found the way under her skirt. His desire for her was overwhelming and he wanted nothing more than to have her right there on his desk.

"Perry, please." Of course, she was the one who broke the kiss, but she stayed close to him, his forehead pressed against hers.

"Stay with me. Let us go through this together and once we know who did this to you, we make this right."

"You know that's not possible."

"Why not?"

"Because I love my family and as much as you pretend not to, I know you love Laura or at least what you see in her."

"That's quite a harsh assessment."

"It's true and you know it."

He kissed her forehead and mumbled, "I really messed it up, didn't I?" She couldn't deny that. How different their lives would have been, if Laura hadn't become pregnant with Perry's child, she couldn't say, but it had definitely robbed them of a chance of a life together.

"It doesn't matter, Perry. What counts is today."

"When did you become so much more pragmatic than I?" He asked and released her reluctantly.

"That comes from being married to a political realist," she answered while she fixed her appearance.

"Will you tell him about my indecent proposal?"

"No, as I told you before, I have no intention of hurting my husband more than necessary." She collected her purse from his desk and went to him again. She gently ran her thumb over his lips, wiping away her lipstick.

"I'll talk to you soon, Counselor," she whispered softly and then she left his office without looking back.

She had no idea how soon she would talk to him again and that the reason for it would be a dead body in her bedroom.

* * *

Richard Carlisle wheeled into his office to check his desk. His flight had been delayed and, when he had called his answering service from the airport, he had received the urgent message to pick up some important papers from his office. Since he didn't have to worry about a confrontation with Della, he had told his driver to wait for him while he collected the necessary files. His secretary had left them on his desk, before going home, but it wasn't the files that caught his undivided attention. There was a big envelope placed on the pile of files in the middle of his desk. His name was written across the brown paper, no sender, no stamp.

He had an uneasy feeling when he opened it and, when he saw the contents, his worst fears got confirmed. Anguish didn't even begin to describe what he felt when he realized who the woman in those pictures was….

 **~~~tbc~~~**


	7. Bloodshed

**Here we go again :-) Thank you all so much for your interest and support! With Chapter 7 we go back to where this story started. Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 7 - Bloodshed**

 _Saturday, 27th October 1973_

When Perry reached Della's and Richard's apartment in Georgetown, he was a nervous wreck. Hearing Della's desperate plea for help on the phone had been pure agony. With force, he pressed the doorbell as if he wanted to crush it. It took her at least a minute before she finally opened the door. Carefully, she peeked through the crack of the it.

"Thank God!" She sighed with relief and let Perry inside.

"What happened?" He studied her thoroughly, noticing she wore practically nothing but her dressing gown. Every detail of her body showed under the soft silk of the robe. He looked at her bare feet and saw dark spots spread over her skin. Was it blood? Her condition was shaken to put it mildly. Her movements were agitated… her voice unusually high, even squeaky. For a terrible moment, he feared someone may have assaulted her. His eyes frantically searched for bruises or other injuries, but he didn't detect any. Aside from the obvious erratic behavior, she seemed uninjured.

She took his hand and pulled him with her. "Perry, I swear I have no idea what happened. I was under the shower and when I came out…."

He grabbed her by her upper arms and pulled her towards him. "Della! Calm down! What is it?" He looked into her eyes, did his best to appear and sound reassuring, all the while fearing for the worst. "Breathe," he ordered gently. She nodded slowly and closed her eyes. When she seemed to relax, he loosened his grip on her arms.

"What happened?"

"Perry, there's a body in my bedroom."

"What?" He didn't believe his ears. With his arm around her elbow, he led her through the hallway to the bedroom. They stopped in the open doorway. The victim lay on his back. It was a man in his late twenties. The massive pool of blood around the lifeless body left no doubt that the man was indeed dead. A towel soaked with blood lay next to him. A thousand questions popped into Perry's head. The most important ones being who the man was and why the hell Della was wearing nothing more than dressing gown. Had it been self-defense? Did he try to rape her and she killed him?

"What happened?" He asked coldly. His heart was racing in his chest.

"I don't know. I was under the shower and when I came out he was lying there."

He looked down to her. "Why do you go under the shower when you have a visitor?"

"I didn't know he was here. I thought I was alone. Perry, I swear it!" She looked up to him, grabbing for the collar of his jacket. Her face was flushed, her eyes frantic. "Perry, I swear it. I didn't kill him - and I didn't sleep with him, if that's what you're thinking! I don't even know his name!"

He had no idea what to think. "You don't know who he is?"

She lowered her head, "I think I do…"

"Who?"

"I think he's the man in the photos."

He groaned when he realized what this could mean for Della. This wasn't just a potential sex scandal anymore. This meant a possible murder charge with motive, opportunity, and a juicy decoration on a silver plate. As if she were reading his thoughts, a sob escaped her throat. Exhausted, her head sank against his chest. He held her closely while she cried her heart out. He tried to come up with a scenario that could save her from this mess. They didn't have any time to lose.

He ran his hands over her back. "Darling, listen… You have to focus now. Listen to me!"

She pulled back a little and looked up to him. "When did you get home and who saw you?"

"I think the door man saw me… but I didn't talk to him. He was on the phone. It was after eleven."

"Did you go anywhere else when you left my office?" She shook her head.

"Did you use a cab to get here?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Do you think the driver will remember you?"

"I think so… he gave me back too much change. I told him to open a college fund for his kids." Perry groaned. Her honesty was honorable and possibly her down fall.

"Look, we need you to get out of here as soon as possible. You can't have been here tonight. Where's Richard? Can we reach him?"

"I told him I would arrive tonight, but, so far, he hasn't even bothered to call. I have no idea if he will come home at all tonight."

Again, she let her head sank against his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "But I didn't know who else to call."

"Don't you worry about me. You know I'll always be here for you. Always."

Despite the problems at hand, he became aware of her body pressed against his. The situation was morbid and absurd, at the same time, and he needed to think with his head and not with other parts of his anatomy. He quickly pressed a kiss on her head and freed himself.

In that moment, he heard a key turning in a lock and the front door opened. From the doorstep, Richard Carlisle had no other choice than looking straight down the hallway where Della and Perry were standing in a tight embrace.

Della jerked away from Perry, but her reaction was too slow. With the expression of someone who had just experienced a death sentence, Carlisle stared at Della.

"Richard…"

"Couldn't you at least have the decency of getting a room somewhere outside town?"

"Richard, no… you don't understand."

"Oh, I think, I do…" Carlisle wheeled slowly towards them.

"Listen, Richard…" Perry stepped between Della and her husband. "You're drawing the wrong conclusions."

"Am I?" Carlisle mused. "Do you know how often you told me that in court?"

"We are not in court here," Perry reminded him. "But in case you wonder, why I'm here, I would like to present exhibit A. Right here in your bedroom." He pointed at the open bedroom door.

"I beg your pardon." Richard gave him the most suspicious look, but Perry stepped aside and gave Della a sign to do the same. Richard couldn't take his eyes from Della as he moved past her. Perry felt the coldness that practically radiated from Carlisle although he couldn't blame him, especially if the roles had been reversed and he were in Richard's shoes. His heart went out to Della. She was the one who suffered the most. She was the one he needed to protect at all costs – even if it meant he had to protect her from her husband's wrath. Reluctant Carlisle looked inside his bedroom and was startled.

"What the…." Richard looked from Della to Perry and back.

"Do you know this man?" Perry asked, hoping to use Carlisle's confusion to his advantage. He still had the fading hope that the photos and the murder were connected to Carlisle and not to Della herself. If so, Carlisle probably knew the victim and could deliver valuable information.

"No, of course not! Who is this and why is he dead and in here?" Richard's head turned. Again, his eyes fell on Della. The shock on his face was too profound, too obvious to be a lie.

"Please, don't tell me…"

Again, Perry did the talking for Della. "Della is not having an affair with anyone," he clarified. "She called me when she found him in your bedroom. I suggest the two of you have a quick and private conversation before we discuss how to proceed."

Perry gave them both a nod and turned away. He retreated into the kitchen where he found a phone and dialed the number of Paul Drake's hotel room in Sacramento.

* * *

Relieved that she could finally sit down, Della sank on the sofa. Her knees were weak and her head was spinning. The full impact of the day and the last couple of weeks hit her like a train. Every time she tried to think straight, the face of her son appeared in front of her. If she had to face a murder charge or, even worse, a conviction, Ruben would be the one who suffered the most. The possible end of her marriage and of Richard's career faded compared to what this could do to her son.

Too worn out to make the first step, Della just sat on the couch, massaging her temples to keep the rising headache at bay. In the end, Richard broke the silence.

"I'm sorry." His voice almost didn't reach her ear. He had said the words so quietly that she almost didn't hear them, because the pounding inside her head was too overwhelming.

"Whatever for?" she asked, baffled.

"For not listening to you sooner. I know you wanted to talk to me, but I avoided you."

"You can say that again!"

"I thought this was about you and Mason… after last year and Nick, I wasn't ready to face this old issue again. So, I ran away. Just like that."

"You ran and you sent a detective after me," she reminded him bitterly.

"I did. I'm sorry for that, too. But after you didn't come home that one night and you didn't talk to me, I didn't know what else to do. I should have given you the time to come to me, but… damn it. You know patience is not one of my strong suits." He reached inside his jacket. "When I came to my office tonight, I found this." He gave her a package of photographs. She didn't have to look at them. Disgusted, she turned her face away.

"I see. You know what's in them," he concluded. "What happened? You can't tell me you did this on your own free will."

"Of course, I didn't."

"So?"

"I was drugged and, when I woke up, I didn't know what happened to me. I could reconstruct parts of the night, but most it still lies in the dark. Perhaps it's best that way."

His face became pale. "Did they..." He couldn't utter the word 'rape'. It got stuck in his throat were it became a knot.

"No."

He sighed out in relief. "Is this about blackmail? Is that the reason you called Mason and Drake in the first place?"

"I didn't call him. He came to me because someone sent him the photos too. There were no demands. No message. Nothing. We asked Paul to look into it."

Carlisle lowered his head. "You should have told me. Damn, why didn't you tell me?!"

Della shrugged, unwilling to accept his anger. "You said it yourself… what was there to say after Nick? I didn't want to hurt you."

He lifted his head, disbelief written all over his face. "You were the one who got hurt. I don't believe this." He threw the photos on the table. He paused for a moment and then he said, "How are these pictures connected to the dead man?"

"I think he's the one in the photos… his face seems familiar. I was in the shower and when I came back into bedroom, he was there. Already dead. I panicked and called Perry. I didn't know what else to do." With self loathing, she remembered the kiss in Perry's office and how much she had wanted to sleep with him. She didn't know how serious he had actually been about his offer to start over with him, but it had been so very tempting just to think about it.

"And that's all?" Richard asked, as if he sensed there was more.

"That is all," she confirmed. She didn't want to confess anything else. It was her guilt and she wouldn't burden someone else with it.

"All right." Richard sighed. "Let's go back to Mason then…. And Della?"

She lifted her head? "Yes?"

"Please, get dressed. This is awkward enough already."

 **~tbc~**


	8. United we stand, divided we fall

**Thank you all so much for your messages and reviews. I really appreciate your support :-) Here we go with the next chapter! The plot thickens...**

 **Chapter 8 -** **United we stand, divided we fall**

"You're enjoying yourself immensely, aren't you?" Richard asked, once he and Perry had agreed on every detail of their plan to provide Della with an alibi.

"Do I look as if I've enjoyed myself?" Perry shot back, his blue eyes fixed on Della's husband.

Richard's eyes glittered with hostility. "My guess is yes. Finally, you can force your old antics on me, because Della needs someone to cover up a crime she didn't commit. You must be having a field day!"

"Not that it matters to you, but I actually find no pleasure, whatsoever, in this situation. On the contrary: I'm only doing this for her."

"It's called obstruction of justice. It's called tampering with evidence."

"It is," Perry confirmed. "Do you have a better idea to keep her out of prison? If so, be my guest!"

Richard didn't and Perry knew it. At this point, he didn't care much for the laws he was breaking. He was thinking of Della and her son. He knew her biggest fear was for him and how this mess could affect him.

"Don't you think I'm not aware of the fact that you can keep holding this over our heads for the rest of our lives?"

"Then you will have to trust me on this."

"And what about your wife?" Richard asked. "Who's to say Laura will play along?"

"I'll make sure she cooperates," Perry stated and lit himself a cigarette. "You'll have nothing to fear from Laura."

"I don't share your confidence in her."

"Right now, you have no other choice," Perry said. "Della's freedom depends on it. Will you really risk it by admitting the victim was shot while she was under the shower? And what if the police get wind of the photos and find out he was part on Della's abduction that night? She'll be in custody sooner than you can say 'obstruction of justice'."

"I'm aware of the consequences." Richard scoffed, "I bet you never hesitated once when she called you. You relish in the fact that she asked your help."

"Della's my friend and I would rather die than let her down. And, for what it matters, I would do the same for you, if she asked me to."

"And why's that?" Richard asked curiously.

"Because she loves you."

Richard let Perry's last statement sink in. Della entered the living room. She was now wearing the same clothes as in Perry's office. Wistfully, Perry remembered the stolen moments of not so suppressed desire, wondering what had happened, if he hadn't let her go.

He cleared his throat. "All right, Della." He handed her the keys to his car. "I want you to drive to my apartment building. Wait there for half an hour before you come back. It should be after two o'clock by then. Make sure the doorman sees you when you come back. Richard and I will take care of the police. Remember, you came home… you only picked up a present that you forgot. You've only been in here less than five minutes and you've never been inside the bedroom. Where's the towel?"

She showed him the small bag in her hand. "Good, leave it in my trunk. I'll take care of it later. What about the shower?"

"I cleaned it." She gave him a nod and a warm smile. "Thank you."

He smiled back and squeezed her hand. "Not quite yet." She turned to Richard, bent down to kiss him and then she was gone.

"Let's get to work." Perry said and handed Richard the phone.

"Don't forget… you found the front door already open and when you came inside you found the body…."

* * *

Laura arrived in the worst of moods to Perry's office. First he hadn't come home the night before and then she had seen his face plastered all over the morning paper together with Richard Carlisle. Apparently, the men had found the corpse of someone in Richard's apartment in Georgetown. She hadn't even finished reading the article when her phone rang and Perry had summoned her to his office. She hoped he had a good excuse for not coming home and not calling her sooner. What had he done in Carlisle's apartment anyway? She didn't like this development and she feared there was worse to come.

"Perry! What is this all about?" she asked, when she stormed inside his office. She had expected to find him behind his desk, but he wasn't. She looked around and heard the sound of running water from the small bathroom in the back of the office. She went there and found him in front of the mirror shaving his face.

"Good morning," he greeted her, as he dried his face with a towel "Did you bring the shirt?"

She placed a bag next to him on the sink. "As ordered," she answered smugly.

"Thank you."

"I read the papers this morning. You had a busy night!"

"Yes. That's why I wanted to talk to you."

For someone who found the victim of a brutal murder only hours ago, his mood was almost jovial. The glitter in his eyes aroused her suspicion. This was about the murder and he was back in his old turf. "Talking to me is certainly a new strategy of yours. I'll get myself a coffee."

Ten minutes, later the couple had settled down at the conference table. Over coffee and cigarettes, Perry explained in, short words, what had happened in the Carlisle's apartment, always watching Laura in the corner of his eye. He didn't mention the incriminating photos or the fact that he had been in contact with Della for the last two weeks. He still didn't believe she was involved in any of this, but, being careful, couldn't hurt. The less she knew about Della and the photos the better.

He could tell the story was unnerving her. Everything about Della used to unnerve her and always would. Her wrinkled forehead and her clenched jaws spoke volumes about the emotions inside her. So far, he didn't know what would get the upper hand - anger or desperation.

"Are you actually telling me I have to give Della an alibi for last night?" She asked upset. The ash of her cigarette fell onto the polished plate of the table.

"Only if it becomes necessary, but I doubt it. The police seemed satisfied with the explanation of Richard finding the corpse and Della being out."

"Why did she call you of all people?" Laura asked sharply.

"She figured she needed a lawyer," Perry answered soberly, which caused Laura to react with a sour smile.

"Della never struck me as the one who played the damsel-in-distress- card. Perhaps you were her first choice for another reason than your former occupation as a lawyer?"

"And what do you mean by that?"

Laura grabbed her purse and pulled out a single photograph. She pushed it straight across the tabletop to Perry. "How long have you been sleeping with her behind my back?"

Perry took a look at the photo. It seemed to belong to the series of photograph he had been sent, but he had never laid eyes on this one before. Della was alone in this picture. Her naked body was spread all over an old fashioned chaise lounge and she looked dreamily into the camera. If he didn't know about the circumstances of the photo shooting the picture could be called sensual. How could Laura get hold of it?

"Where did you get that?" He asked coldly.

Victory written all over her face, Laura leaned back in her chair. "So it is true! Tell me, does her husband already know about this? Did you tell him you were screwing his wife when you helped him cover up a murder scene?"

"I asked you a question!" Perry yelled.

She scoffed and shrugged. "It was in your drawer. The locked one - of course."

He turned to look at his desk. "Well, I didn't put it there." He rose and unlocked the drawer with the key from his set. He searched the drawer with fierce accuracy.

"It was the only one," Laura told him gleefully as she joined him. "Who would have thought... the ever so proper Della Street. It was a bit careless of you to hide the photo in your office. Perhaps, you should have kept it closer to your heart..."

Exasperated, he closed the drawer and turned to Laura. Her tirade annoyed the hell out of him. His mind was raving with questions about how this photo could have ended up in his possession. "I told you. I didn't know anything about it. And I'm not cheating on you. Not with Della or with anyone else!"

"Then where have you been for the last two weeks?" she shouted back. "Do you think I'm an idiot? You are never home and you constantly fly from one coast to the other."

"Counter question: what did you do in a bar in Sacramento last month?"

Laura's face lost all its color. "How can you..."

"It doesn't matter how I know, just that I do know, for a fact, that you were there. Answer my question!"

He had taken her by complete surprise. He saw in her eyes how she quickly contemplated one lie after the other, before she settled for the truth. "I met someone who made me a job offer," she confessed quietly.

"A job offer?" He didn't hide his sarcasm. After their wedding and the loss of their child, Laura hadn't worked a day for her living. She was ambitious, yes, but she had projected all of her energy in his career instead into one of her own.

"Yes. I told him I would consider it."

"What kind of job?" He asked.

"Do you really care?" Truth was, he didn't. At least not at this point. He ignored her question and continued to cross examine her. "Who did you talk to?"

"His name is Glen Robertson. He owns a real estate company. What is this all about?"

"Why did you open that drawer? And when did you steal my key?!" Aside from the fact that he was utterly confused by the sudden emergence of the photo, it really got to him that Laura invaded his privacy like that.

"I didn't have to. I found one on your secretary's desk."

"I never gave Rebecca a key to this desk."

"Then, maybe you should ask her why she had one," Laura suggested snappishly.

"Believe me, I will," Perry said. "And now, let's go back to the heart of our problem. In case the police question you, you will say that Della was your guest. All evening. For old times' sake. And you will be convincing."

"And if I refuse to play a part in this ridiculous charade?" She asked.

"Then, you should call Mr. Robertson and ask him if his offer still stands. If Della has to stand trial because of you, all of us will lose everything. I'll step out of the race for the upcoming election to defend her, if necessary. Carlisle will lose his career, and you will lose your raison d'être, because I doubt Capitol Hill will be interested in you once I turn my back on it. You see, Laura, the four of us will swim or sink together. It's your choice!"

* * *

 _Sunday, 28th October 1973_

Paul Drake pulled the beanie deeply over his forehead, making sure every bit of his grey hair was covered by it.

The building, he had been watching for the last six hours, was deserted. He had paid the guy with the photo equipment another visit and had presented him a photo of the murder victim. He could identify the man and was sure he was the one who had accompanied the red head the last couple of times. After a generous tip, the man also suddenly remembered that he had once mentioned an old photo studio that he wanted to reopen. It had taken Paul the whole day to find this place. It was rented by a young man named Peter Smith. Paul didn't bother to check the name out. The rest had been easy. From the landlord, he had learned that a young woman paid for the rent for the former photo studio - in cash. She was a red head and in her early thirties. A red head was in photos, a red head who bought the lingerie, a red head who paid the rent... there's no such thing as coincidence. Now, he needed to find a way inside to search the rooms, hoping he would find something that helped him with getting Della out of this mess.

With growing anticipation, he turned the lock pick in his hands and crossed the street. In the small alley that led to the back door, the street lamp was broken. He didn't want to use a pocket light, so it took him longer than usual to pick the lock. Once it was done, he sighed with relief and sneaked quickly inside. He pulled out the pocket light. Within the small beam of light, he found all he needed to know. He found the right place.

 **~tbc~**


	9. Memento Mori

**Chapter 9 - Memento Mori**

 _Washington D.C., Monday, 29th October 1973_

When Perry's secretary came to work on Monday morning, she was welcomed by a boss who was in the worst of moods. As always, she went inside his office at half hast seven, armed with a pile of mail.

"Good morning, Perry," she greeted him and gave him a smile…a smile which he didn't return for the first time since she started working for him. He just stared at her, his facial expression, made of stone.

"Is everything okay?" she asked. "I know you had a bad weekend. I read it in the papers... should I have come to the office?"

"No, Rebecca. Why don't you sit down?"

Unsure what to expect, she dropped the mail onto the table and sank into a chair.

"You're making me nervous."

He ignored her statement. "How long have you worked for me?"

"One year and one month," she replied.

"And, during those thirteen months, you certainly understood how I'd like my office to be run."

"Of course."

"So, why is it that you're hiding a key for a drawer …a key I never gave you in your desk?"

Rebecca felt how she blushed. She had often heard people talking about 'the gaze'. Aside from his sharp mind and eloquence, it was his ultimate weapon to force the truth out of a reluctant witness. His eyes were merciless. He didn't blink… he didn't move. He just stared at her. An alpha male if there ever was one.

She swallowed. "What key?"

"My wife found it under the typewriter on your desk. It must be a duplicate, because there's only one and that's always in my pocket."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Are you saying someone else must have put it there?" He asked coldly.

"For the lack of a better explanation, yes," she answered, finally able to hold his gaze.

"And who could have done that? And more importantl, why?"

"I don't know."

"Is there anyone you can think of who would frame you like this?"

She thought for a moment and then she shook her head, "There's no one. Absolutely no one."

She couldn't tell if he was satisfied with her answer or if he believed her and it was unnerving to say the least. His face was still a mask when he released her.

"What about the mail?" She asked with a knot in her throat.

"I'll look at it later. First, get Richard Carlisle on the phone. I need to talk to him - and close the door." She nodded, but he wasn't paying her any attention so she left.

* * *

It was only with great reluctance that Richard picked up the receiver to answer Perry's call. The only good thing about it was that, as long he was calling Richard, he wasn't calling Della.

"What is it?" He asked.

"Good news. Last night, I got a call from Paul Drake. He found the location where the photos were shot as well as the negatives. The rooms have been occupied by a photographer named Peter Smith. He vanished from the face of the earth about a week ago. I bet he's the murder victim."

"Thank God!" Relief flooded him.

"Unfortunately, the place was completely deserted, but Paul found out that a woman was paying the rent for the last couple of months. It seems to be the same person connected to the bar in Sacramento and the lingerie. Anything new about our victim?"

"Not yet, but I'll talk to the detective and the D.A. later on. I hope the results of the autopsy can tell us more about the guy. Tell Drake to call me to fill me in on the details."

"Good. Wait for his call and keep me posted!"

"I will."

He hung up. For the first time since the corpse had been found, he felt less on the edge. That Drake had finally found the negatives was a small and first victory. Perhaps not everything was lost yet.

* * *

Della looked at the engraved invitation in her hand and rolled her eyes with annoyance. Richard had already told her about it, but she had pushed the upcoming event to the back of her mind and, now, his office had sent her the invitation as a reminder. A masquerade ball on Halloween was really what she didn't need right now. Richard would, of course, want her to accompany him and she knew her reluctance was childish. It was just that the idea of being surrounded by people dressed up in costumes wasn't at all inviting or alluring right now. Now that her nightmares had finally faded, she didn't want them to return. Surrounding herself with hundreds of people with covered faces would do just that.

With a sigh, she put the invitation aside and opened the other mail. Aside from the usual letters, bills, and ads, there was a small package. It had been stamped in Washington, but there was no sender. She eyed it with rising uneasiness. She had the definite feeling that this wasn't a gift she wanted to open.

Of course, she could wait until Richard was home, but, if the package was harmless, she would look like a nervous fool. So, she got a knife from her kitchen drawer and opened the tape glued around the box.

If a limb or some similar gruesome had been inside the package, her shock couldn't have been any bigger. With trembling hands, she took out the small note and the black piece of silk and put them on the table.

The note read "Memento Mori." The other one was a black silk mask.

One hour later, Paul Drake was sitting in Della's kitchen. In front of him, a cup of coffee as he inspected the package.

"It seems we're getting to the heart of our problem," he said and looked up to Della who was leaning against the kitchen counter…a cigarette in her hand and her eyes fixed on the objects on the table.

"So, you mean it's really a death threat? This was all about me all along? 'Memento Mori - Remember you have to die'," she quoted.

He nodded gravely. "Looks like it! Look... if you ask me, it's time to call in the Feds. You and your family need protection."

She sighed and stubbed her cigarette into the ash tray.

"There's something else I need to talk to you about," he said, unsure this was the best moment to bring up the subject.

"What is it?"

"As promised, I haven't told Perry anything about the one thing you told me…." He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and handed her a photograph. "Among the negatives and the equipment from your photo shoot, I found this. It's not the guy who was killed in your apartment. Do you know him?"

For over a minute, Della just stared at the picture. Her thumb ran tenderly over the portrait of a young man in his early thirties. "That's Nick Renzi," she finally confirmed Paul's suspicion.

"I guess that makes it official. This is about someone's revenge."

"But why? Nothing ever happened between us!" She placed the photo behind her on the kitchen table.

"Well, maybe someone else feels differently about it. Did he have a girl friend? A sister? A mother? Someone who would want to you held accountable for his death?"

"Paul, he had a car accident!"

"I know, Beautiful..." He sighed and patted the chair next to him. "So, did he have a girl friend?"

"He was engaged, but he broke it off the day before he died." Embarrassed, Della sank onto the chair. "He told me when he was at our house in Malibu a few hours before he died."

"You were the reason for his decision?"

She hesitated. "That's what he said... I told him to think about it twice, but he said he had made up his mind. He also wanted to hand in his notice. He didn't like his job and he thought if he cut all strings attaching him to Richard and his private life, it would be easier for me to make a commitment to him."

"Wow. That one had it bad," Paul commented dryly.

"I told him there was no way we could be together. I didn't have the heart to tell him that about seventy percent of my feelings for him were a result of my feelings for a man he didn't even know. I just sent him away... and he said he would be back… well, he never did. He died."

Paul allowed her a few minutes of peace before he continued his questioning. "Did he ever mention the name of his girlfriend?"

Della shook her head, "No, I don't think so... but wait... There was a picture of her in his office."

"Was it a red head by any chance?"

"No, she was a brunette, I think. As far as I remember, he didn't have any other family left. No one ever collected his things from the office, so Richard's secretary just stored them somewhere - just in case someone would turn up one day."

Paul checked his watch. "Good, I'm on my way. Call your husband's office and tell them I'm coming over." He finished his coffee and rose, glad to have something promising to do.

"All right."

"And you... talk to your husband. He has the connections to the right people. And..."

"Talk to Perry," she finished his sentence.

Paul nodded. "I think that's exactly what you have to do, Beautiful."

* * *

 _Washington D.C, Tuesday, 30th October 1973_

Against her better judgement, Della travelled to Washington D.C for the second time within one week. After fighting a long, inner battle, she had decided to tell Perry about Nick Renzi in person instead of telling him over the phone or in a letter. The other reason was, of course, the party. Richard insisted she come with him and, in the end, she had agreed, although she was still reluctant about attending it.

Now, she was standing outside the Smithsonian Museum… waiting for Perry. He had insisted on meeting in a public place where they couldn't be overheard.

"Good morning, Counselor," she said when he stepped next to her.

"Good morning, Miss Street." A wide smile appeared on her face. No one else did ever talk to her like he did.

She turned on her heels to face him. "You look tired," she said when she saw his gray face.

"The same could be said about you. Paul said he is worried about you."

"Paul is exaggerating," she said in an attempt to smooth his concern.

"I see Richard convinced you to come here."

"He didn't leave me much of a choice since he decided to take Ruben out of school for the weekend. Do have any idea what do you have to promise a nine year old when he is about to miss this year's Halloween party at his best friend's house?"

"As a matter of fact, I don't," he admitted amused. He bit back a remark about her husband's perseverance. Instead, he took her elbow and, together, they walked away from the crowded entrance of the museum.

"Paul told me there was something you wanted to tell me - something that could support my theory about the murder of the so called Mr. Smith in your apartment."

"He really knows how to make things interesting," Della quipped.

"I had the impression part of what was worrying him was the way you were dealing with whatever is bothering you."

"Because to me it makes no sense."

They reached a park bench and sat down.

"Did he tell you about the photo he found in that studio in Sacramento?" Della asked after a short moment of silence.

"Yes. He also told me the man's dead and that you would tell me anything else that I needed to know about him."

Paul had really kept his word and suddenly she wished he hadn't. "He died last summer in a car accident. He was a lawyer who worked for Richard and he was giving my son extra lessons after school."

"So, he was more than just an employee?" Perry asked.

"Yes. The day he died, he told me he had left the girl he was engaged to, because he was in love with me."

Without looking at Perry, she felt how he tensed next to her. He swallowed. "I see. What happened between you?"

"Less than between you and me over the last couple of weeks," she answered softly. "But truth be told, I'm not sure it would have stayed that way."

"What does Richard know about this?" Perry asked.

"I told him about Nick and me – or at least I told him the least painful part of it."

Perry had been staring into nowhere…his hands buried in the pockets of his coat. He turned to her. "What could be the least painful part about this for a husband who loves his wife?" he asked, profoundly astonished.

"I told him I had feelings for Nick I didn't act on, but I never told him why I had been so attracted to him in the first place."

"Which was?"

Della bit her lower lip and shrugged. "He reminded me of you. Oh, he was younger, more naive, and less persistent when he wanted something, but there was a lot of you in him."

He began to understand and a tremendous amount of guilt nearly choked him. The abrupt question, when all of this had become so annoyingly complicated and hopeless, popped up in his mind and he received the answer he deserved. 'When you screwed it up, Mason.'

"I had hoped to keep it all a secret because my life is complicated enough as it is, but I guess that's not possible."

He reached out to touch her hand and noticed she was wearing gloves.

"Don't... Someone could see us."

"Well, I hope a certain someone is watching us right now." He tried to focus on the evidence and what needed to be done. Maybe later, he would deal with everything Della had just told him. Or maybe he would just try to bury it.

"Which brings us back to your theory," Della said, obviously glad for the change of subject.

"Yes. It makes a lot more sense to me now. The fiancé of your Mr. Renzi sounds like someone who could be out for revenge."

"I refuse to believe someone can be so delusional!"

"It's because you have not a delusional or hateful bone in your body, which makes you a rare and unusual exception. Believe me. I work in Washington. I know a thing or two about delusion and revenge."

"And you think that woman is your present secretary?"

"Yes, I do. Paul did some digging about her. Rebecca Powell didn't even exist until August 1972. One month later, she applied for a job in my office and has been the perfect secretary since then. She runs my office, has access to most of my files and my diary. I haven't trusted an employee that much since you handed in your notice."

"I guess she also matches the woman in the photo he found among Nick's possessions?"

Perry nodded. "Yes."

"Why couldn't she just place a snake in my mailbox? That would have been a lot cheaper and less elaborate."

"Because she wants to see you squirm... preferably in a way that drives a rift between you and the people you love. And since that didn't work out, she will soon do something much more elaborate to get under your skin."

Della still wasn't completely convinced of his theory, but she decided to trust his instinct. "She's done a pretty good job so far."

"Yes, but we're all still here, aren't we?" Perry asked. "Even my wife is lying to keep you out of jail. That must trigger something within her."

Della acknowledged his statement about Laura with a smirk. "Is that the reason you all insist I go to that stupid party?"

"Yes, Della."

"Who's to say she's after me? If I were her, and wanted to hurt me, I'd go after my son or my husband."

"Actually, I have a plan to make sure nothing will happen to them or to you. Will you listen to me?"

"When have I ever not listened to you?"

"When I begged you to forgive me about Laura," he answered without hesitation.

"That was different. If I remember correctly, you were drunk that night." Of course, she remembered correctly.

"First, you tell me that you wanted to sleep with a younger man and now you're rubbing salt into my wounds. I guess, not so deep down you think, there's still a lot I have to be hold accountable for..."

She shook her head. "No. But if what happened with Nick showed me anything, it's that there's a lot I never really worked out for myself. Death threats and abductions, of course, don't really help to make any improvements. And then, there's also the undeniable fact that I'm not getting any younger."

"You'll never age for me, nor fade, nor die," Perry quoted softly, forcing a smile out of her.

"Aren't you a bit biased?"

"No, I'm not. During my time, people in court applauded me for my sense of truth and eloquence."

"Don't flatter yourself and don't flirt with me," she teased him. "After all, we're being watched. There's someone sitting on a bench across the lawn, hiding behind a newspaper."

"I know that." They exchanged a look and, simultaneously, got back to their feet and continued their walk. "It's all going according to plan."

"So, what exactly is the plan, Counselor? I'm all ears."

 **~~~tbc~~~**


	10. Zugzwang

**Chapter 10 - Zugzwang**

 _Washington D.C., Wednesday, 31_ _st_ _October 1973_

"Mason, we have a problem!" A determined Richard Carlisle wheeled his way past Perry's perplexed secretary and stopped right in front of the desk. Perry, who was still on the phone, looked up in surprise, but finished his call instantly.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of having you here?" He asked sourly.

"I just had a call from the D.A. concerning my wife," Carlisle said angrily. "This is your fault! If you and Drake had been more careful, none of this would have happened!"

Perry gave his secretary a hasty look. "Becca, would you please close the door behind you?"

She nodded. "Of course, Sir."

Still bewildered regarding Carlisle's harsh behavior, Becca did as ordered as Perry leaned back in his chair. Earnest concern clouded his face when he realized that Becca had not closed the door completely. He gave Richard a meaningful glance and, when he spoke again, his voice did not give away to the rising anger inside of him. "What happened now?"

"Someone sent some of those disgusting photos of Della to the investigating detective who, thankfully enough, gave them straight to the D.A. He's an old friend, so he made sure they vanished, but the police will want to talk to her. Now, she's right in the middle of the investigation we wanted to keep her out of!"

"Well, there was no way to guarantee the discovery of the negatives would stop other pictures from being out there!"

"You know what I think?" Richard barked. "Whoever did this to her found out we have the negatives and is now playing their end game."

"Their end game?" Perry asked sardonically. "What could that be? Everyone who knows about you must be aware that you have the police in your pocket. Sending these pictures to the police must be a very desperate attempt to incriminate Della! No one can prove she killed that man. Remember what the autopsy report stated? First, the victim had been sedated to immobilize him and then he was killed with a big, sharp object – perhaps a kitchen knife that has not been found yet. No knife is missing from your kitchen and nothing incriminating was ever found in your apartment. And since the photos have so conveniently vanished, no one can prove Della ever even knew the victim."

"I don't have anyone in my pocket!" Carlisle hissed. "Don't you dare claim I'm abusing my position to protect my wife!"

"Well, you do, don't you? At first, you were quite happy with the idea that I do the dirty work, but now your own hands are going to get dirty. It's not pretty being on the other side, is it?"

"You disgust me!" Carlisle turned his wheelchair. "Stay away from Della! I am taking care of this matter now."

"Will you be at the party tonight?" Perry asked.

Carlisle stopped. "Of course. Della was against it, at first, but, under the circumstances, it is best to take the high road. We will show everyone we're not scared and we have nothing to hide."

Perry scoffed. "It could turn out to be the road of perdition, if you ask me. The corpse in your apartment did not help the cause. The trust in you is fading and so your poll numbers will drop rather sooner than later."

Carlisle's reply came with a sour smile. "I knew you would use this to your advantage. Della thinks the world of you, but I guess she's in for a disappointment very soon."

"You would be surprised to hear she knows me better than you think?"

"I doubt it."

Richard Carlisle left the office and Perry sighed loudly, wondering how much of the conversation had been pretense and how much an exchange of ugly truths.

* * *

"Zugzwang? What's the meaning of this?" Ruben Carlisle, dressed in a green alien costume with two tropes on his head, looked with narrowed eyebrows over his father's shoulder and pointed at the word in the crossword.

Carlisle smiled up to his son and explained. "Zugzwang is a situation in which one player is put at a disadvantage because they must make a move when they would prefer to pass and not move. The player is compelled to move and that means that their position will become significantly weaker."

"It means you have a problem, because you have to do something that will make you lose the chess game," Della explained when she came into the room. "And now, Gentlemen, what do you think? Do I look all right for the circus?" She asked and whirled around.

Her dress was a last minute choice because she had never intended to attend the party until Perry had convinced her otherwise. It was a high necked, black silk dress in Morticia Adams styling. Since she had lost enough weight to pull it off, she had chosen something to underline her slim shape. Aside from that, it also perfectly fitted the ridiculous masks they were supposed to wear as soon as they arrived at the party.

"You look like a million bucks, Mom!" Ruben said with a large smile.

"Or, to use a more sophisticated expression, simply gorgeous," Richard added. "People will turn their heads after you."

"I'd prefer them to look after themselves," Della said dryly.

"The way you look, I could think of a thousand other ways to spend the night, but we promised to go." Richard gave her a meaningful glance. "Perhaps tonight is our lucky night."

Della checked her watch. "Where's Paul? I thought he said he'd be here at seven sharp."

"It's not even seven yet," Richard said. "Don't be so nervous!"

The doorbell rang. "I'll take it!" Ruben yelled and vanished into the hallway.

"Are you sure Paul Drake is the right choice for a 'babysitter'?" Richard asked, now that his son was out of sight.

"I would entrust Paul with my life," Della said without hesitation. "He will take good care of Ruben. I'd rather have him here than some policeman I don't know."

"You really think Mason knows what he's doing, right?" Richard asked worried. "You don't mind playing bait for his little scheme?"

"No, I don't." Again, her words were filled with confidence. He would never understand her trust in a man who had hurt her so much, but now was not the time to bring this old subject up. She went to him and bent down to squeeze his hand. "As you said, perhaps tonight is our lucky night."

* * *

"I cannot believe I agreed to be a part of this stupid little scheme!" Laura complained, as she and Perry entered the venue of the masquerade ball. It was a grand sized penthouse that belonged to a consortium of oil tycoons. Perry had heard it was used for all kinds of events - mostly discreet parties with the according pleasures for already elected politicians. It reached over two levels with an open staircase and an adjoined balcony that seemed just as big as below the stairs.

"What's so bad about this party? Since when do you not like to dress up?" He asked amused.

"This has nothing to do with what I like and or do not like! If that woman is really as clever as you think she is, she won't fall for your trap!"

"I'm willing to hope she feels forced to act. I think a room full of people who smoke, drink, dance, and wear masks over their faces is the perfect opportunity for her to strike."

Perry looked around. The penthouse was already filled with costumed people that had their faces covered. What most of them didn't know was that at least fifteen undercover agents and police officers were among them. Notable guests like a governor and two senators had been informed about the police operation and had agreed to stay away.

"And if she does... who says no one will get hurt?" Laura asked and gripped for his arm. She had chosen a blue dress from the roaring twenties whose color perfectly matched her eyes under the silver colored silk mask.

Did he really see honest concern in those eyes? It had been such a long time since they had been on the same page that it felt strange to see a real emotional response from her.

"There's no guarantee of anything," he said and placed his hand over hers. "We'll do our best to keep everyone safe!" he added. She stretched a little and kissed his lips, before she intertwined his fingers with hers.

"I love you," she whispered against his mouth. "I really do." Taken by complete surprise, he did not know what to say. He couldn't remember a moment, in the last couple of months, when they had actually exchanged 'I love yous'. A reply on his behalf became unnecessary, because someone yelled his name across the room.

"Mason! Come over here and let me tell you how great your wife looks tonight!"

Perry offered Laura his arm. "Let's go!"

* * *

Just as Perry had told her, Della tried to separate from the party crowd every occasionally. She was standing at the banister on the upper floor and looked down on the mingling guests while smoking a cigarette. They had arrived over two hours ago and, so far, no stranger had tried to get close to her and the only red head she had seen, so far, was the reincarnation of Cat Woman from a sixty's TV show. She was mostly dancing with a man who dressed up like the Joker. She smirked and looked out for Perry. Her mood was sinking like a plane in landing approach when she couldn't find his tall appearance in the Zorro costume. Every time her eyes roamed the penthouse to watch out for Perry, they found Laura first. Laura, in her flapper dress who was clinging to her husband like ivy to a dying tree. She didn't like to be this jealous, but she couldn't help it either. Perhaps she should just accept her feelings as part of her existence and get on with her life.

Then, her eyes finally came to rest on Perry. He was standing close to the door that led out on the balcony. He caught her gaze and, despite Laura pressed against his side, he gave her a toast and smiled.

A waitress came along with a tray and offered her champagne. Glad to have something else to do than smoking, she quickly took the glass and returned the toast. Then, the spell was broken, because Laura had noticed their silent interaction and did her best to disrupt Perry. She turned him around and pointed to a man who was outside talking to Richard. Della rolled her eyes in annoyance and finished the glass in one gulp. Laura would always be Laura - unable to cope with people who didn't give her their full and undivided attention.

Another waitress passed her and Della returned her empty glass without taking a new one. She should have eaten something at the buffet, but she hadn't been hungry and now she was paying the price. She became dizzy and her stomach protested. With her hand on the hand rail, she made her way to the staircase. The room started to spin around her and she didn't know what to do with her feet. She grabbed the rail with her other hand and tried to steady herself. She inhaled deeply, hoping it would clear her head. It didn't. Instead, her dizziness worsened and she suddenly felt sick. The realization she just had been drugged or poisoned with something hit her like a train. While she tried everything not to collapse, she tried to remember the woman who had given her the champagne. Black hair... she remembered black hair... she wore a mask... the other waitresses hadn't... There had only been one glass on the tray... one glass... one glass... how stupid of her... how very stupid... Panic flooded her. She made one step forward and then she lost her balance. Someone was suddenly next to her, grabbed her arm, but it was too late. She fell, turning over and over and over again, until she hit the end of the stair case. Suddenly, everything was quiet and then there was nothing but painless darkness.

 **~~~tbc~~~**

Thanks for reading and not giving up on me :-) I promise the next chapters will follow soon!


	11. Caring is not an Advantage

**Chapter 11 - Caring is not an advantage**

 _Thursday, 1st November 1973_

A new day dawned when an overtired and gray faced Perry Mason sat next to Della's hospital bed… holding her hand. Repeatedly, he told himself how insanely lucky she had been. Aside from a minor head wound, she had not suffered any visible injuries. Nevertheless, he would never forgive himself. Right after she toasted towards him, he had wanted to go upstairs to talk to her, but Laura had distracted him. Only seconds later, he heard the horrified screaming of the people who had witnessed Della's fall down the staircase.

It was a miracle she was not dead. He thanked God on his knees she did not have to pay the ultimate price for his mistake.

Shifting in her bed, she groaned and opened up her eyes.

"Hello, Beautiful," he said lowly, using Paul's nickname for her. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible. Was I hit by a truck?"

"No. I'm afraid you were drugged and then you hit your head." She touched the bandage on the back of her head and hissed in agony.

"They pumped out your stomach and you have ten stitches on the back of your head. Nothing too serious, but you gave us quite a scare."

She groaned again. "Now I wish a truck had hit me."

"Do you remember anything?"

"I'm not sure... there was this waitress who gave me the champagne. Did you get her?"

He shook his head regretfully, "I'm afraid not. However, we found a knife thrown away in a plant near one of the bathrooms. Whatever she planned, she was disturbed by something or someone. Perhaps, she had hoped you would try to get to one of the bathrooms upstairs…instead of the stairs. Thank God!"

"I'm not sure I'm glad to hear I survived because I fell down a staircase." Della turned her head very slowly so that she could face him. "Where's Richard?"

"He went home an hour ago. He wanted to check on Ruben."

"And he allowed you stay here?" She asked, her voice doubtful.

Perry cleared his throat and released her hand. "Actually, I snuck in after he left. First, he yelled at me, then he yelled at the policewoman who was supposed to look after you, and then he yelled at the Chief of Police."

"I'm sure he was just overreacting."

"No, he's right. We blew it... I blew it. I got distracted. I almost lost you." Pensive, he hung his head in shame.

She reached out to touch his cheek. Her hand was cold and her unexpected touch startled him. "Don't beat yourself up, Counselor. I don't remember much, but I shouldn't have taken that drink from the waitress... I was distracted, too." She shrugged and gave him a small smile. "I was looking at you."

Again, he took her hand and leaned in closer. Tenderly, he ran his thumb over her chin. "Perhaps I should stay out of it just as Richard told me. I'm too involved to be of good advice. I care too much and that's a disadvantage."

"I've never taken you for a quitter," she quipped.

"I'm not, but this... you are too important to me to have you depend on someone who can't look after you."

"Don't you even think of it." She sighed and then she said. "Unless, of course, it's what you really want… or what Laura wants," she added.

"Laura has nothing to do with it," he said. "But Richard..."

"Leave Richard to me and go back to work! Find that woman… before she finds me again."

"Is that an order, Miss Street?"

"You bet."

He felt incredibly tempted to kiss her, but he restrained himself and backed away.

"All right. Listen, there's a policeman right in front of your door. No one except Richard, Ruben, Paul, and me will have access to you."

She sighed and asked, "How long do they plan to keep me here?"

"As long as necessary." He grinned, because he knew how she much she hated doing nothing. "Perhaps the nurses can bring you some magazines."

"I'm sure they can..."

* * *

Too restless to go home, Perry went to his office. Since the front of the building was underseige by reporters and bystanders, he chose to sneak in from the back way. Unfortunately, his antechamber was also filled with people he neither wanted to see nor needed to see. It took him almost ten minutes to throw everyone out before he could enter his office, where Paul was waiting for him. The P.I. had made himself comfortable. His feet lay on his desk while he enjoyed a cup of coffee and a cigarette.

"Comfy?" Perry asked.

"Not very. I liked your other office better."

"That wasn't my question," Perry replied grumpily and helped himself to one of Paul's cigarettes.

"How's Della?"

"She'll be fine. Just some minor injuries."

"Thank God! Carlisle wasn't very informative when he came home this morning!" Paul complained and took his feet from the desk. "On the contrary, he kicked me out like an old dog!"

"He was scared to death. I can't blame him."

"I didn't say I blame him… but the guy has an anger issue, if you ask me. Anyway, while you were out, I called my people in L.A. to hear if they had any news on your mysterious secretary. It seems your Miss Powell has some interesting skills, other than typing letters and killing people."

"Which are?"

"Her father owned a pharmacy and she studied pharmacy herself."

"That does explain a lot."

"Do you want to hear more?"

"Shoot."

"Her real name is Rebecca Vincent. She's thirty-one years old and quit her job in a pharmacy in Malibu last summer. Neither her parents or her friends have heard from her since then and have reported her missing."

"So, that's when she came to Washington. But why did she start to work for me?"

"Maybe... and I'm merely suggesting the possibility that she knew about Della's connection to you and waited for her chance to use it to her advantage."

Perry rubbed the back of his hand in his other palm, "She's shown an awful lot of patience and planning. Last night's attempt to kill Della seems almost too clumsy."

"Perhaps, she's losing her nerve," Paul shrugged. "She's planned all this, but she hasn't really considered Della's environment. Laura aside, Della has never had any real enemies. No one means harm to her or wishes her dead. Her plan to discredit Della failed. We found the pictures before they ended up in the press or in the hands of the police. The man she killed to get rid of an accomplice and to bring Della behind bars failed too. And, last night, Della survived a fall down a gigantic staircase. Either Della is extremely lucky or Miss Vincent isn't as clever as she thinks she is."

"And yet, she escaped last night," Perry mused. "I think you're right... she must be furious."

"Sooner or later, she'll make one mistake too many," Paul said. "Let's hope it'll be sooner rather than later. If I hate one thing, it's a nut job on the loose!"

* * *

Laura was sitting behind the wheel of her car… smoking one cigarette after the other. After Della crashed down the stairs, Perry had sent her home. She would never forget the look on his face when he saw Della's supposedly lifeless body on the marble floor. It was as if all life had been drained out of him as well. Would he ever feel like this if she died? Deep down, inside, Laura knew, he wouldn't. He would mourn her, of course. Would he miss her? Probably not. His life would be easier without her demands and her plans for his career and their marriage. The truth was always hard to swallow, but she had never been scared of it. This photo of Della in Perry's desk... did this crazy woman place it in there as Perry claimed or did it belong to him? Even if it was not proof a full-blown love affair between them, it was the indicator of something perhaps worse: Hope, dreams, desire, and lust. A love unfulfilled and unconsumed - at least ever since Della had broken up with Perry when Laura had told him she was having his baby.

It was not the best day for a confrontation, but she needed to know what exactly was going on between Della and her husband. She deserved to know the truth.

Laura left her car and crossed the street. Only very few people knew the hospital to which Della had been taken the night before, but,when she had talked to Perry in the morning, he had told her. Della was in a private room with a security guard in front of her door. Laura figured there shouldn't be too many patients under police protection and took the elevator to the first floor.

Glad she could finally change her hospital gown for some of her pajamas, Della sank back into her pillow and closed her eyes. The headache was almost killing her, but better just feeling like being killed and actually being killed. The doctor had assured her she would be released the next day, if she promised to rest. It was an promise easy given, because her whole body was still aching. Her stomach was still burning like a cauldron, but the doctor assured her she would feel better soon.

After a soft knock, a nurse entered her room. Annoyed, Della closed her eyes. A hospital was really the wrong place to get better. One was never left alone.

"What is it?" she asked

"You're next shot."

Irritated, Della opened her eyes. The doctor hadn't told her anything about an injection. The nurse stood already next to her and nimbly prepared Della's arm for the shot. The syringe lay on a small plate on the cabinet.

"The doctor didn't tell me anything about an injection," Della said, an awkward suspicion rising in the back of her head. She knew these eyes... she had seen them the night before, surrounded by the black silk of a mask. She took a closer look at the nurse, whose eyebrow started twitching when Della pulled her arm back. With one swift movement, the nurse grabbed for the syringe and hissed, "You're really a cat, Miss Street. You have at least nine lives, don't you?"

With horror, Della realized that the other woman was about to ram the syringe into her arm. With all the force she could muster, Della pushed the woman back and jumped out of bed. On her way to the door, the fake nurse grabbed Della's ankle and tore her down onto the floor. She crashed onto the floor and hissed in pain when her head hit the ground. The other woman turned her on her back and closed her hands painfully around her throat. Della choked and pressed her arms against the woman's chest, but she was strong and her face spoke volumes about her determination.

"What the hell!"

A cold draft flew into the room. Someone entered the room and the nurse screamed out in anger, and let go off Della. Before Della knew what happened, her adversary dashed against the unwelcome visitor whose scream turned from surprise to pain. Still coughing, Della flipped around and frowned when she saw how Laura sank against the wall, pressing her hands over her stomach. Blood was running through her fingers. The nurse,who had also been leaning against the wall, took one last look at Della on the floor. With a curse on her lips, she stormed to the door.

"Not again!" Della croaked and got to her feet. Her fear and confusion was turning into fury. She was sick and tired of being chased around and almost killed. The nurse reached the door and pulled it open, but Della was on her heels. She clawed her nails into the uniform. The woman jerked around and hit Della's face with the flat back of her hand.

"Don't touch me!" she yelled, but Della was neither intimidated nor did she feel the pain. She grabbed the arm of the nurse and pulled her around. With one drastic push, Della flung her against the door so that her head crashed against the frame. Blood splashed against the door and the wall as she cried out in pain. With one last effort, Della pushed her backwards into the room and stormed out of the door. Her hand swiped the shoulder of the policeman sitting next to her door. Lifeless, he fell from the chair. She yelled for help, causing everyone hastening down the busy hallway, to turn around.

 **~~tbc~~**

 **Author's note: Just from personal experience. There are no white knights anymore. I doubt they ever existed. When you're lucky, there's someone to look after you, but don't count on someone being there in the right moment. Not even when they love you, because in the end everybody is just human. When it comes down to it you gotta save yourself, Ladies. I guess that is what this story is about.**


	12. Who we choose to be

**Chapter 12 - W** **ho we choose to be**

When a long and tiring day found its end, Perry and Paul stood in Della's now deserted patient's room. The police had left some time ago and very soon a cleaning squad and a painter would arrive to remove every trace of the tragedy that had occurred in the room.

"Did the doctors tell you how long Laura will be in surgery?" Paul asked, checking his watch.

"No." Perry shook his head and drew a deep breath.

Laura had suffered a massive loss of blood. Rebecca had stabbed her in the stomach, with a scalpel, she had hidden in the pocket of the stolen nurse's uniform. Apparently, Laura's sudden appearance in Della's room had ultimately spoiled Rebecca Powell's plans to kill Della. The policeman in front of the room had been killed by an overdose of a poison based on the essence of foxgloves that had been injected into his neck. The man had died a practically painless death. The coroner still had to analyze the substance that had been found in the syringe that Rebecca wanted to inject to Della, but Perry was sure it contained the same sedative Rebecca had given to the photographer, before she killed him. Apparently Rebecca had intended the same painful death for Della.

"What Rebecca did in here was extremely risky," Paul said to Perry, who was still staring at the dried blood on the wall and the floor. "Anyone could have come in here at any time."

"Just like in Della's apartment," Perry agreed and added to himself. 'She's mad.'

"The police are searching Rebecca's apartment. I'm pretty sure they will find, not only some sort of secret lab, but also a lot of other things that link her to the murder of this photographer. They've already found a black wig and the waitress uniform in a dumpster around the corner from where the party took place. She must have thrown them away before she followed the ambulance."

"Well, that's what the D.A. will have to ask her." Perry said.

"I guess he will. After all, he's playing poker with Carlisle. I bet they will lock her up and throw away the key." Paul eyed his old friend with curiosity. "Will you talk to her? I mean, she was your secretary. If I were you, I would have a lot of questions."

"Oh, believe me, I have a lot of questions!" Perry said and decided it was time to leave. There was nothing left to do in this room. "Let's go."

* * *

 _Friday, 2nd November 1973_

"I have a lot of questions I need to have answers for!" Della said, while her husband was staring at her in utter disbelief. She had herself released from the hospital that very morning. Though he understood her wish to be out of the hospital, he still feared she was overtaxing herself. She had been so incredible lucky over the last few days that her latest plan just seemed to push her luck unnecessarily hard.

"I can't believe you will actually consider talking to her!"

"Why not?" Della asked and pulled a turtleneck sweater over her head and flinched. Her neck was still bruised and even the feeling of the woolen fabric was painful. "She's in custody now."

"I still think it's a bad idea!" Richard insisted. "We know why she did all of this.

There's no need to grant her an audience."

"It won't be an audience," Della replied. "Perhaps you can't understand it, but she tried to kill me with her bare hands. I want to know where this hate comes from!"

"She was Renzi's fiance! She's jealous!" He exclaimed exasperated. Sensing he was getting tired of the discussion, she closed the wardrobe and sat on the edge of the bed. "Richard, I mean it. I want to talk to her and I have this feeling she won't turn away my request."

"Of course, she won't," he scoffed. "She'll enjoy it!"

"So, either you will arrange a meeting or I'll call the D.A. myself. Your choice."

"I'll go with you."

"No." She established eye contact with her husband. "I will talk to her on my own."

Richard's jaws were clenching, but Della didn't surrender. She was entitled to her right to talk to anyone she wanted to. Ultimately it was a battle of wills. She had witnessed Perry staring down people in court countless times and had always wondered how he had mastered this special technique. You simply had to believe in it with all your heart. Now, she knew how to do it and she would never forget it. In the end, Richard gave in.

"All right. I'll make the necessary calls - but promise me to wait a day or two. I want you to get some rest."

"I will rest. Once I have talked to Miss Powell, I'll take Ruben home to Sacramento with me."

* * *

 _Saturday, 3rd November 1973_

Due to Richard's request, Rebecca's transfer from the police station to another prison got delayed, so that Della wouldn't have to meet her in a federal prison. So far, Perry hadn't dared to contact Della after her release from the hospital, but when he heard she would come downtown to talk to Rebecca, he made sure to be around when she arrived. He had called in some old favors in the Police Department to have the chance to be present when Della talked to Rebecca. His own interrogation of Rebecca hadn't been very successful. Stoic, she hadn't answered one of his questions, but the smug impression on her face told him there was a lot she wanted to talk about.

The evidence against her was not as overwhelming as he had hoped for. Since he and Richard had tempered with the evidence in Carlisle's apartment, nothing aside from the used sedative linked Rebecca to the murder of the photographer. The photographs were destroyed and since Rebecca had been dressed up when she paid the rent for the photo studio, it would be easy for her defense attorney to deny her connection to the victim. Perhaps Della's presence was what it would take to make Rebecca talk. From what he heard, Carlisle wasn't happy with his wife's request and feared for her security. Perry understood both sides. Della needed answers after everything that had happened to her while Carlisle, the control freak that he was, needed to know Della was safe.

Rebecca was led inside the interrogation room and cuffed against the table. Perry watched her through the one-way mirror while the policewoman took her place next to the door. Rebecca's facial expression was non-telling as always. She had a bandage along her hairline where Della had pushed her against the door frame and one of her eyes was badly bruised. Now that there was no wig and no glasses that disguised her, he could tell, she was a beautiful woman. Her brown hair was long and her green eyes gave away a brisk, free spirit. She was bright and had the best abilities to become a successful part of society. This woman could have become whatever and whoever she wanted, but she choose to get carried away by her unrequited love for a man who didn't want her.

'We are what we choose to be', he thought bitterly. Behind him, the door opened and Della, accompanied by the D.A., a small, bald man named James Norton entered the room. Even in the imminent darkness of the room, he saw that the make up she had applied didn't cover up the strain she had been under. There was a small bandage on her temple and a cut along her chin.

"Counselor," she greeted him cordially.

He drew a deep breath. "Mrs. Carlisle. How are you?"

"I'm fine." The blunt lie made him smile.

"How's your wife?" She asked back.

"She'll be fine."

"I'm glad to hear it. Give her my best when you talk to her."

"I will." He would rather throw a lit match on a gasoline tank, but they weren't alone and the situation demanded a bit of ceremony as well as white lies.

D.A. Norton checked his watch and interrupted the little exchange. "Will you go in now, Della?"

"Yes, I will."

"May I stay?" Perry asked unexpectedly. "After all, my wife is a victim of Miss Powell as well. I would like to hear, if Mrs. Carlisle' s more successful than I was."

Della gave him a look that was mix of scolding and admiration while the D.A. seemed flustered.

"I'm not sure that's what..."

"Let him stay," Della said. "What harm can be done?"

"But Richard said..."

"Leave Richard to me," Della said firmly and Norton. gave in. "Okay." He swallowed and nodded to Perry. "This will be on your head!"

"Oh, it always is," Perry said jovially.

Without paying any more attention to the D.A. or Perry, Della opened the door to the interrogation room and went inside.

* * *

Rebecca looked up when Della entered the room and her eyes sparkled with anticipation. With firm steps and her heart somewhere in her throat, Della approached the table and sat down.

"I hoped you would come to see me," Rebecca said. "Your curiosity got the better of you. If everything had gone according to plan, we would have had this conversation on Halloween, but I misjudged your luck that night."

"Well, here we are. I promise you, you have my full attention."

Rebecca nodded, almost in admiration, "You've got guts. I have to admit that. It must have been tiring to play the damsel-in-distress-for the last couple of decades. It makes me proud to say that I'm the one who brought out your true colors."

"What makes you think that?" Della asked, truly astonished.

"You almost broke my skull, when you pushed me against that door." She touched her forehead with her hand.

"Sue me. I have a good lawyer."

"Ouch...," Rebecca grinned. "I see... that was what Nick was talking about when he mentioned your wit."

Della pushed her tongue into her cheek and then she sat up and said, "I think it's time we talked about Nick. I mean Nick is the reason for all this... you're in jail, because of him."

Rebecca shook her head. "No, it's because of you. It's your fault he's dead. He died because of _you_ , because he went to Malibu to see _you_. Because he was thinking of _you_ , when he drove his car over that cliff."

"What makes you so sure of that?"

Rebecca laughed, "Because he told me so. He called me after he left your house. He was all over the moon, because he thought you were finally giving him a chance."

Della shook her head, "That can't be true. I sent him away that day. I told him to sort his life out and to give _you_ a second chance."

Rebecca shook her head, amusement written all over her face. "Well, whatever you said or did, it kept him distracted. It tore him further and further away from me. And all this time I wondered what's so special about you... what makes men lose their heads over someone so..." Her eyes scrutinized Della. "Normal. Vanilla. I don't get it. But I'm not the only one. Laura Mason has the same problem only she's too self-obsessed to realize that she's the one who's driving her own husband away. "

"Is that the reason why you applied for a job at Mr. Mason's office? Because you wanted to find out more about my past?"

"That's exactly what Mr. Mason kept asking me yesterday. Is he here today? Did he tell you what to ask?" Rebecca looked aside to the one-way mirror and smiled, as if she knew he was there, watching them. "He was pretty frustrated when I didn't talk to him yesterday. He isn't used to people who don't do what he tells them to. But, of course, you know all about that, don't you?" Rebecca gave her smirk, but Della decided to ignore the rhetoric question.

"So, your answer is yes," Della summed up. "What I don't understand is why you put so much effort into your crusade against me. If you had wanted me dead, you could have accomplished that much easier. Why did you want to frame me for murder? Why did you abduct me? Why this cat-and-mouse-game?"

Rebecca shrugged, "I thought you had figured it out by now. Just to see you squirm... You should have seen the look on Mason's face when he saw those photos. I really thought he lost it. During all these years, he has put you on a pedestal and I wanted to see it tumbling. But I'm ready to admit I misjudged the situation. In his eyes, you're untouchable - not unreachable as we know, but untouchable. Men are such fools, aren't they? Especially those who think of themselves as the good ones."

Della didn't react. She just waited for Rebecca to continue. "I knew you would call Mason. I've watched you since you arrived in Washington that afternoon. You were in his office that evening... I overheard you. The rest was easy. Smith and I went to your apartment. He was so stupid... so easy to manipulate. I told him I wanted to surprise a friend and I gave him the injection in the car. It worked rather quickly, but you've experienced it first hand yourself. Your doorman was too distracted to notice us. Smith barely noticed how I picked the lock to your apartment. I hid him under your bed while I was behind the curtain. You were so... absent-minded when you came in. I guess you were still thinking about Mason. Did you tell your husband about your little interlude? I guess not, otherwise, he wouldn't have agreed to play along when Mason suggested one of his little schemes to save you... But, as I said, you're not stupid. You know how to protect yourself!"

As much as she hated it, Rebecca's words were getting under her skin. The cold-blooded confession about killing someone just like that was one thing, but the way she felt completely justified in her actions was a different beast. For her there was just black and white.

"So, you just stabbed him and left, hoping the police would arrest me?"

"Yes, it is dreadfully easy to kill when you want it. Think about yesterday... you wanted to kill me, didn't you?"

"No. I wanted to defend myself."

"If that's what you want to believe."

Della tried to sound as cold and unfeeling as possible when she spoke again. "I think you likewise misjudge my relationship to Mr. Mason and to my husband."

"I don't think I do," Rebecca answered. "On the contrary. It would have been so easy to kill your husband and frame you for it - especially if it became public that you were seeing your ex-lover in secret. And what about your son? Ruben would have been the easiest target of all. He's such a sweet boy who looks so very much like his father..."

Della's stomach turned into a stone. "So, why didn't you kill them?" She asked, her heart racing in her chest while she waited for the answer. Rebecca leaned in and Della had to force herself not to back off.

"It wouldn't have made sense," Rebecca explained softly. "Killing your husband would have made your life easier... killing your son wouldn't have been enough. Perhaps if he were Perry's son, but this way..."

"You're sick," Della whispered.

"Just admit it... if I had killed Perry Mason your life would certainly become even more miserable, but I sincerely believe that the ultimate punishment for you is knowing that he's married to someone else. His death would free him from this sorry existence next to Laura. So, killing you was the best option for my own peace of mind. Unfortunately, you have proven to be like a cat. You seem to have nine lives, but one day, your luck will run out. One day Mason, your husband or your own survival instinct won't save you."

Della decided she had enough. "That's pretty assumptive coming from you," she said. "You'll go to jail for a long time and no one is going to save you from that."

Rebecca laughed out loud, "Yes, but believe me, when I go down, I'll take you with me. I'll tell my story in court and I'm sure the press will even pay to listen to me. Reporters thrive on scandals. The photos, the murder, your life long affair with a man who isn't your husband and never will be... a man who left you for another woman. Laura Mason is a whore, so how does it feel to be second best to her? After my trial, you'll even feel lower than you already do. You, your husband, and Mason will lose everything. Perhaps it's good things turned out this way. It's almost perfect."

Della rose from her chair. With all the dignity she was able to muster, she held her head and said. "A courtroom isn't a circus. I doubt the press or the jury will see you as anyone else than who you really are: A bitter, lonely woman who couldn't stand to lose her boyfriend. You can blame anyone you want... Me or the rest of the world, but in the end, you made your choices and no one else. You chose who and what you are."

* * *

Perry was waiting for Della outside the police station. After everything he had listened to, he couldn't stand to be inside. He needed fresh air and space to think. His worst expectations had just been confirmed and now they had to deal with it.

"That was good work, Miss Street," he complimented her when she approached him and offered her a cigarette. She only hesitated a second. "Perhaps this isn't the right time to quit smoking again," she said and he gave her fire.

"But since this wasn't an official interrogation nothing of what she said can be used in court." Della shook her head. "Is she insane or just the devil?"

"Where is the difference?" Perry asked. "Richard can use his influence to offer her a deal in exchange for her silence."

"And then she gets back out on the street again in a couple of years. Why does the idea make me nauseous? But what is the alternative? You know she is right. She can destroy us all with her testimony. Even you." Della rubbed the bridge of her nose. "This is all my fault!"

"It's not. You did nothing wrong."

"Maybe none of this would have happened, if I had reported my abduction to the police. I chose to be a coward because I feared Richard's reaction after everything we had been through last year."

"You didn't know you were abducted," Perry argued mildly. "Don't waste too much time on regret. It won't lead you anywhere. I know a thing or two about regret." He gave her a loving glance. "We will fix this. Somehow."

She wanted to believe him, but she was not someone who believed in miracles. "I think I've got to go home now," she said and stubbed her cigarette with the tip of her boot. He gave a worried glance. "You know all of what was said was taped, don't you? I'm sure Richard will listen to it rather sooner than later."

"I know." She shrugged. "I almost got killed twice within the last three days. I don't think telling him more one ugly truth is too painful - at least not for me."

"If there's anything I can do..." He left the offer hanging in the air. She had to decline anything he offered her, if she wanted to save her marriage, but deep down inside he felt responsible for her and her well-being.

"There's nothing you can do." She leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for being there for me."

"Always."

"Good bye, Perry."

With one last smile she turned on her heels and walked down the street.

 _"In his eyes you're untouchable - not unreachable as we know, but untouchable... I guess you were still thinking about Mason. Did you tell your husband about your little interlude? I guess not, otherwise he wouldn't have agreed to play along when Mason suggested one of his little schemes to save you..."_

Richard Carlisle stopped the tape. He had listened to it over and over again. He didn't even want to know if everything Rebecca Powell had said was the truth. Even if nothing had happened between Della and Mason the night in the office, the very essence of what she had said was what counted.

 _"The photos, the murder, your life long affair with a man who isn't your husband and never will be... You, your husband, and Mason will lose everything."_

Carlisle didn't believe in prophecies, especially not in the self-fulfilling ones He believed in action and what could be done to achieve what needed to be done. So, he picked up the phone and dialed the number of an old friend.

"There's something I need you to do for me..."

* * *

 _Tuesday, 6th November 1973_

Perry heard the news about Rebecca Powell's death on his way to his office.

 _"So far no statement about the sudden and violent death of the presumed murderess has been issued by the police, but unofficial sources claim that Rebecca Powell was involved in a fight with one or more other inmates and was killed. Rebecca Powell had only been for one day in the facility and the incident raises indeed questions about the security arrangements inside our federal prisons..."_

Perry turned off the radio and stopped the car at the roadside. Rebecca Powell was dead. As far as he knew, she hadn't given anyone her official statement yet. Her lawyer was working pro bono, but without a lot of enthusiasm. Rebecca's death changed everything. Without her statement, there was nothing to prove. The case would be closed and forgotten. Della would be safe. Untouchable.

How very convenient... He suppressed the very ugly thought that Rebecca's untimely death was the very best that could happen to all of them.

 **~~~tbc~~~**

 _ **This was the penultimate chapter. Thanks for reading and reviewing!**_


	13. Vale - Be well

**Chapter 13**

Vale - Be well

 _Sacramento Marina,_

 _Saturday, 1st December 1973_

The postcard, with the beautiful picture of the marina in Sacramento, in her handbag, carried only the most necessary pieces of information: "Quo Vadis", the current date, and Paul Drake's familiar signature.

Della had no idea why a simple phone call wouldn't have sufficed, but as long as she could remember, Paul had been the dramatic one of the trio. The boat was quickly found and, with it, two very familiar figures. Both men were sitting on deck, enjoying the bright sunlight, a bottle of bourbon and two glasses between them.

"So this is what you do, when you think no one is watching you?" She asked amused when she greeted them from the jetty.

Paul took off his sun glasses and hit Perry's arm. "I told you she would come when I asked her. You owe me ten bucks!"

"I'll pay them when you return your share for the rent of this little nutshell," Perry said and took Della's hand when she climbed up on deck.

"What am I doing here?" Della asked Paul, suspicion clouding her voice.

"You pay Perry a visit," Paul answered and leaned back in his deck chair. "I'm the watchdog. Woof."

"I've seen more convincing dogs," she returned amused.

"Let's go inside," Perry suggested.

The cabin downstairs was a cozy, paneled room with a table and a bench along the wall. Della sat down and Perry poured them some coffee.

"Don't blame Paul for luring you here," he said when he sat down next to her. "It was my idea."

"And why did you go through all this trouble just to see me?"

"I would wander the whole world to see you," Perry said softly. Della gave him a tender smile and placed her hand on his.

"Why?"

"How are you?" He asked. "We haven't talked since that day at the police station."

"I'm fine, Perry."

"How are things with Richard?"

"We are fine. He played the wounded eagle for a few days, but he's just glad it's all behind us now." She noticed how a shadow crossed his eyes.

"I heard the file on Rebecca Powell has been closed."

"It is..." Della confirmed. "As if nothing ever happened."

"Will they send anyone to trial for her death?"

Della shook her head. "It doesn't look like it. No one saw what happened to her or at least that's what they claim." She paused and then she changed the subject. "How's Laura?"

"She's fine," Perry answered. "She's taken on a new job."

Della was surprised. "A job?"

"Do you remember the man she met in the club here in Sacramento?"

"Yes."

"He's working in real estate and offered her a job in his new branch."

"I see... do you believe he's just giving her work?"

Perry smirked. "Even if not... what does it matter? Right now, she's angry with me, because I've broken a promise to her. That's her way of repaying me, which makes us even."

"What promise?"

"I told her, when she wouldn't play ball when it came to your alibi for the night of Smith's murder, I would defend you in court, if necessary."

"Oh Perry!"

He raised his hand to silence her. "And two weeks ago, I told that I've decided to drop out of the midterm elections. I'll quit politics once and for all. I plan to open a new office in Los Angeles." Della answered his announcement with a bright smile. She leaned in and wrapped her hands around his lower arm. "So, you'll go back into the courtroom where you belong."

"Yes."

"I'm glad to hear it. But what about Laura and you? I mean..."

He shrugged and avoided her eyes. "Nothing. We have our arrangements and they work."

"Did she ever tell you why she came to see me at the hospital?"

"I have a hunch, but she denied it when I asked her." He reached inside his jacket and pulled out the photo Laura had found in his desk.

"She found this in my desk."

Della blushed and turned it around. "Did you steal that from the package Rebecca gave you?"

"No. I'd never seen it before. Laura beat me around the head with it. My guess is it was Rebecca who planted it there before she gave me the other photos, but I never found it."

"Can I have your lighter?" she asked.

He grinned. "A pity, but I think it's better in this case to be safe than sorry." He finished his coffee and then Della set the photo on fire and put it in the empty mug.

"Let's hope this was the last one," she said.

"If not, you know where to find me and..." He took her hand.

"And?" She asked, her eyes fixed on his.

He hesitated, before he placed a kiss on the back of her hand. "In case you ever need anything else... a friend, a lover, a job..."

Touched by his offer, Della leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. "Careful, Counselor, I may take you up on it sometime."

"Any time."

With her thumb, she wiped her lipstick from his mouth. "Goodbye, Perry," she whispered and broke away from him. "And be well - for me."

~~~~The End~~~~

 ** **Before you gang up on me for not giving Della & Perry a happy end, let me tell you this: when I was halfway through with this story I realized that I couldn't wrap it up without messing it up. So I decided to write a follow up story that will be called "Vita Brevis - Life is short". ****

****I want to thank Nora B. for her outstanding support and patience and I want to thank you for reading and reviewing. You are amazing.****

 ** **See you soon,****

 ** **GraceBe****


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